of  rbe 

Wim\itv6itv  of  ilortf)  Caroli 


II 


urNivtf--  -PELHILl. 

I II I  I  J  III 

0002492018 


Qx 


THE  LIBRARY  OF  THE 

UNIVERSITY  OF 

NORTH  CAROLINA 

AT  CHAPEL  HILL 


ENDOWED  BY  THE 

DIALECTIC  AND  PHILANTHROPIC 

SOCIETIES 


PS3501 
.U584 

R7 
1891 


^  -^/C<.,/Jj(  y/tf,.a^^^  ^j^f^^^  ^CrTCZ^ 


ROMANCES 


OF 


NEW  ORLEANS 


_3Y   GEO.    AUGUSTIN. 


AUTHOR    OF^ 


Love  and  Decit//,^'    '"  Her  Ptiuis/iinc/l ,'' 


k>a4^ 


I'liough  this  transient  wor 
As  the" countless  ages  ro 

\Vh:it  one  seeks  from  man 

Will  he  struggle  to  contrc 

—  The  F/cc, 


NEW    ORLEANS: 

L.  (iKAHAM  Jt  Son, 99-103  Gi<a\  ikk  Si 
1891. 


This  book  is  due  at  the  WALTER  R.  DAVIS  LIBRARY  on 
the  last  date  stamped  under  "Date  Due."  If  not  on  hold  it 
may  be  renewed  by  bringing  it  to  the  library. 


^""^^                           RET 
DUE                              "^'• 

^'^^^                            RET 
DUE                              "^'- 

• 

rm  No.  513, 

TO 

THAT  GRACEFUL  SOUTHERN  WRITER  AND 
GIFTED   SCHOLAR, 

P'  MRS.  VIRGINIA  DLWITKY   RUTH, 

t 

4IS  BOOK  IS  AFFECTIONATELY    DEDICATED. 


PREFACE 

The  invariable  rule  of  the  general  reader  is  to  skip 
prefaces,  but  an  author's  immemorial  habit  being  to 
write  them,  I  feel  myself  called  upon  for  an  explan- 
^\tion.  1  will  do  so  briefly  and  simply.  I  only  wish 
to  thank  those  who  have  kindly  helped  me  in  this 
undertaking.  Being  a  New  Orleans  boy,  substantial 
encouragement    was     generally     tendered,    assuring 

success. 

A  few  of  the  poems  and  romances  herein  have 
already  been  published  under  my  name  in  various 
periodicals.  With  but  slight  changes,  I  reproduce 
them  as  they  originally  appeared. 

"  Yetta,  the  Nun,"  has  never  been  in  print  before. 

It  is 

"  A  tale  of  sorrow  treasured, 

Too  fondly  to  depart; 
Of  wrong  from  Love  the  Flatterer, 
And  my  own  wayward  heart," 

^\\i\  has  taken  me  four  years  to  complete.  It  has 
been  revised,  altered  and  condensed  more  times  than 
I  can  tell,  and  it  is  with  mingled  feelings  of  regret 
and  reluctance  that  I  now  part  with  this  favorite 
<;hild  of  my  fancy.  Perchance  some  critical  reader 
will  begrudge  me  for  having  weaned  it  so  soon  ? 

G.   A. 
New  Orleans,  MarcJi  i6,  i8gi. 


CONTENTS. 


TACE. 


Yetta,  Tiuc  Nun 9 

S3 


lOI 


M5 
167 

185 


LULETTE 

Irreconcilable 

The  Creole  Flower  Gikl  ^^') 

The  Strangler  of  Congo  Square 

Iyala,  The  Dancer 

The  Death-x\n<;el - 

Smiles  and  Tears  (Poems) ^97 

Pardonable  Curiosity ^99 

The  Angry  Pessimist 

My  Sweet  Lulette 

The  Girl-Suicide 

Estranged 

Baby 

Tin-a-feex 

The  Fleeting  Ideal 


200 
201 
203 
204 
205 
206 
20S 


YETTA,  THE  NUN, 

A    FORGOTTEN    TRAGEDY  Of  OLD 
NEW  ORLEANS. 


YETTA,  THE  NUN. 


CHAPTER  I. 

Rise,  O  tide  of  my  heart,  to  her  beautiful  eyes, 
On  the  billows  of  P'ate,  like  the  sea  to  the  skies. 


About  the  year  1763,  Dr.  Carlos  Alvez,  a 
graduate  of  the  Madrid  School  of  Medicine, 
left  his  native  country  and  settled  in  New 
Orleans.  He  was  young,  intelligent  and  am- 
bitious and  soon  controlled  a  numerous  practice. 
In  a  few  3'ears  he  amassed  a  snug  fortune, 
which  he  invested  in  town  lots.  Toward  the 
end  of  the  last  century  he  estabhshed  a  drug 
store  at  the  corner  of  Esplanade  avenue  and 
Rampart  street  and  did  a  thriving  business. 

Among  the  throngs  which  daily  pass  the  lo- 
cality, on  their  way  to  the  business  sections  of 
the  cit}',  probably  not  one  ever  heard  of  the 
quaint  little  structure  known  as  "  Pharmacie 
Alvez.''  It  was  destroyed  by  fire  in  1836.  A 
one-story    frame   house,    at    present  used    as    a 


12  ROMANCES  OF  NEW  ORLEANS. 

fruit    stand    and  grocery    combined,    has  oblit- 
erated all  signs  of  the  old  landmark. 

Dr.  Alvez  prospered  wonderfullv.  He  grad- 
ually acquired  possession  of  the  land  adjoining 
his  original  purchase,  until  his  estate  included 
all  that  tract  now  comprised  within  Esplanade 
avenue,  Burgundy.  St.  Anthony  and  St.  Claude 
streets. 

In  1802  Dr.  Alvez  married  Miss  Pepiia 
Delric.  daughter  of  a  college-mate  of  his 
father,  who,  like  him,  had  made  Louisiana 
his  home.  A  son  (Louis)  blessed  this  union. 
From  his  infancy  this  3^oung  gentleman  was 
schooled  to  familiarize  himself  with  the  pro- 
fession which  had  been  followed  by  his  paternal 
ancestors  from  time  immemorial.  Dr.  Alvez's 
ambition  was  that  his  offspring  should  begin  as 
early  as  possible  to  assist  him  in  ministering  to 
the  ills  of  his  numerous  clientele  and  tradition 
says  he  began  "talking  shop"'  to  him  on  the 
very  day  he  had  his  first  look  at  the  world.  In 
after  years,  when  young  Louis  had  mastered 
the  alphabet  and  could  read  words  of  one 
or  two  syllables,  the  first  book  of  any  conse- 
quence he  had  to  struggle  with,  was  a  medical 
one.      His  father  would   take  him  on   his   knee 


YKTTA,     rilE    NUN.  13 

and  expound  things  which  made  the  toddler  open 
his  eyes  to  their  widest  capacity  and  cross- 
examine  his  instructor  as  only  a  child  can. 
But  the  Doctor  bore  this  catechism  with  forti- 
tude and  cheerfully  explained  everything. 

Dr.  Alvez's  father-in-law  had  only  two  chil- 
dren— Pepita  and  Charles.  The  latter  married 
a  Creole  girl  a  few  years  after  the  Doctor's  in- 
road into  the  family  and  a  daughter,  Yetta,  was 
born  to  him. 

From  the  day  Louis  was  allowed  to  take  a 
peep  at  his  new  cousin,  he  evinced  a  strong  in- 
terest in  her.  As  time  went  by  and  the  young- 
lady  began  to  understand  what  transpired  about 
her,  she  reciprocated  his  affection  and  the  two 
romped  and  played  together,  as  happy  as  mortals 
could  be.  Very  often,  when  evening  came  and 
their  nurses  would  coax  them  to  stop  their  gam- 
bols and  retire  peaceably  to  bed,  they  would 
cryingly  protest  against  such  an  arbitrary  pro- 
cedure and  force  had  to  be  employed  to  sepa- 
rate them. 

At  twelve  years  of  age,  Yetta  was  bundled 
off  to  a  convent.  Louis  was  two  years  her  senior, 
and  had  attained  an  age  at  which  most  boys 
consider   themselves  full-grown   men,    but   this 


14  ItOMAXCES    OF    NKW    OllLKANS. 

did  not  deter  him  from  sobbing  like  a  baby 
wlien  he  received  a  scravvly,  tear-bedewed  note 
from  his  little  sweetheart  a  few  days  afterward, 
in  which  she  said  she  still  thought  as  much  of 
him  and  had  cried  every  niglit  since  their  separa- 
tion. 

Yetta  remained  absent  seven  years.  During 
that  period.  Louis  had  news  of  her  only 
through  her  parents,  as  the  nuns  abhorred  men, 
and  spirited  away  an}'  communication  addressed 
to  their  wards.  This  is  whv  Yetta  never  re- 
ceived the  lurid  answer  Louis  penned  her. 

A  few  now  living  may  recall  the  peculiar, 
semi-octagonal  building  which  vears  ago  stood 
in  the  pentagon  formed  b\'  Bourbon.  Dauphine, 
Union,  Royal  and  Peace  streets.  This  was 
St.  Veronica  Convent.  It  was  the  first  large 
dwelling  constructed  in  Louisiana,  and  was  for 
a  long  time  an  object  of  wondering  admiration. 
It  was  torn  down  and  ils  site  subdivided  into 
lots  about  forty  3'ears  ago. 

But  the  curiously  inclined  were  not  permitted 
to  inspect  this  quaint  structure  very  minutely. 
The  nuns  waged  incessant  war  against  in- 
truders. The  grounds  were  surrounded  by 
a  high    stone    wall,   topped    with    broken  glass. 


VETIA,    TlIK    Xl^N.  If. 

etc.,  and  traps  were  hidden  in  the  most 
out-of-the-way  places  within  the  shadow  of  the 
wall.  There  were  large  signs  at  each  angle  of 
the  wall,  on  w^hich  was  conspicuously  painted : 


NO    BOYS   OR    MEN 
ALLOWED   ON    THESE   PREMISES. 


Fearful  stories  w^ere  told  of  the  fate  of  boys 
who  had  had  the  temerity  to  disregard  this  pro- 
hibition. There  was  a  tradition,  often  whis- 
pered at  the  fireside  with  shuddering  dread,  that 
the  nuns'  favoiite  mode  of  punishment  was  to 
tie  tliem  b}^  the  feet  to  one  end  of  a  short  rope, 
at  whose  other  extremity  a  wildcat  or  panther 
was  attached.  The  whole  thing  was  then  thrown 
over  the  limb  of  a  tree  reserved  expressly  for 
such  exhibitions  and  the  venturesome  youth  was 
never  seen  or  heard  of  afterward.  Other  grue- 
some modes  of  punishment  were  vouched  for, 
but  this  particular  one  had  a  more  deterrent  ef- 
fect upon  predatory  urchins  than  any  other. 

This  explains  why,  although  living  but  a  few^ 
squares  from  the  convent,  Louis  never  saw  his 
child-love  during  the  seven  3'ears  she  was  away. 


16  liOMANCES    OK    NEW    ORLEANS. 

Years  went  by.  Spurred  by  his  ambitious 
father  Louis  studied  zealously,  and  at  twenty- 
one  graduated  with  high  honors.  Of  course 
Dr.  Alvez  could  not  allow  such  an  event  to  pass 
quietly  by.  He  gave  a  grand  ball  in  his  son's 
honor,  to  which  all  the  youth  and  beauty  of 
fashionable  New  Orleans  were  invited. 

On  the  morning  of  the  day  selected  for  the 
ball,  Yetta  returned  from  convent.  Louis  was 
amazed  at  the  change  time  had  operated  in  her, 
and  wondered  what  mysterious  agency  could 
have  metamorphosed  her  into  such  a  beautiful 
woman.  Up  to  that  day  he  had  never  been 
seriously  in  love.  He  had  but  a  vague  idea  of 
what  this  dangerous  passion  really  was,  and 
little  dreamed  what  momentous  changes  it  could 
work  in  the  life  of  a  man.  He  thought  that 
women  were  created  simply  to  amuse  us,  and 
the  idea  of  manacling  himself  for  life  to  one  of 
these  effervescent  beings  never  entered  his  mind. 
As  he  contemplated  Yetta  on  the  night  of  the 
ball,  all  his  pet  theories  were  forgotten.  He 
pictured  to  himself  what  blis£  it  would  be  to 
pass  one's  entire  life  near  her,  a  slave  "to  her 
every  wish.  Memories  of  the  past,  dormant  for 
years,  whirled  through  his  mind.     He  imagined 


YETTA,    THE    NUX.  17 

himself  walking  hand  in  hand  with  his  child 
love  through  his  father's  park,  happy,  innocent, 
thinking  only  of  frolicking  about.  Could  her 
heart  still  be  beating  forliim,  or  had  the  advent 
of  womanhood  banished  the  past  from  her  mind  ? 
He  felt  bewildered,  fascinated'  and  would  have 
parted  with  the  dearest  treasures  of  earth  to  be 
left  alone  with  her  for  a  single  moment,  that  he 
might  implore  her  to  unbind  the  fetters  she  had 
gyved  around  his  heart  years  ago. 

Having  been  immured  for  seven  dreary  years 
in 'an  institution  where  even  to  mention  a  mas- 
culine name  evoked  a  frowning  rebuke,  Yetta 
naturally  had  an  unconquerable  horror  of  the 
dance.  It  was  only  after  much  coaxing  that  she 
consented  to  remain  in  the  parlor;  and  being  a 
woman  of  tact  and  education,  she  took  pains  to 
make  herself  agreeable. 

Louis  spent  much  of  his  time  beside  his 
cousin.  Not  to  appear  too  boorish,  he  was  com- 
pelled to  be  amiable  with  all;  but  whenever  he 
could  escape,  he  would  seek  Yetta. 

'*Your  guests  will  think  you  very  uncivil," 
said  the  latter,  as  Louis  approached  her  and 
asked  the  privilege  of  a  promenade.  ''You  are 
too  often  near  me." 

2 


18  ROMANXES    OF    NEW    ORLEANS. 

"I  have  the  reputation  of  being  a  desperate 
flirt,"  Louis  observed  ;  "this  will  shield  me  from 
censure." 

Yetta  laughed  softly  and  accepted  his  prof- 
fered arm. 

They  were  now  in  the  garden.  It  was  the 
first  time  the  cousins  had  a  chance  to  be  alone, 
and  Louis  resolved  to  know  his  fate.  He  began 
by  talking  of  the  past,  and  asked  Yetta  if  she 
recalled  the  delightful  times  they  had  together. 
To  his  surprise  she  seemed  displeased,  and  pet- 
ulantly said  : 

*'Let  us  leave  our  childhood  days  alone,  I 
entreat  you.  I  have  been  so  long  awa}'  from 
the  w^orld  that  I  want  to  hear  oi  f  resent  happen- 
ings." 

Louis  tried  to  conquer  this  whim,  but  seeing 
he  only  succeeded  in  getting  Yetta  angry,  con- 
cluded he  w^ould  have  plenty  of  time  to  make 
her  talk  the  ensuing  days  and  turned  the  con- 
versation into  other  channels. 

•The  rest  of  the  evening  seemed  like  a  dream 
to  the  young  doctor.  He  felt  he  had  at  last  met 
his  Waterloo;  that  women  were  not  created 
simply  to  amuse  us,  but  to  sway  our  souls  with 
their  gentleness  and  fascinating  sweetness. 


YETTA,    THE    NUN.  10 

CHAPTER  II. 

•  I'll  obey  you,  though  't  is  plain 
You  are  jesting  with  my  pain." 


For  a  week  after  Yetta's  arrival,  Louis  saw 
her  only  at  meals,  as  his  father  kept  him  clos- 
eted all  day  in  his  laboratory,  instructing  him 
how  to  compound  innumerable  chemical  com- 
positions and  making  him  delve  into  almost  in- 
terminable volumes  to  more  fully  illustrate  his 
teachings. 

When  the  young  man  was  at  last  liberated, 
he  felt  overjoyed  and  roamed  all  about  the 
house  in  search  of  his  ideal.  He  thought  how 
pflad  she  would  be  to  have  a  few  hours  of  un- 
disturbed  conversation  with  her  childhood  com- 
panion ;  how  volubly  they  would  speak  of  the 
delightful  events  of  the  past.  He  attributed  her 
previous  restraint  to  her  sudden  transition  from 
the  dismal  quietness  of  convent  life  to  the  dizzy 
turmoil  of  the  social  world,  and  wondered  what 
queer  notions  went  tumbling  about  her  puzzled 
little  head.  She  would  see  her  child-lover 
once  more,  would  confide  to  him  as  of  old  and 
would  find  his  heart  yearning  to  call  back  the 
feeling    which    had    been    dormant   so    long. 


20  ROMANCES    OK    NEW    ORLEANS. 

What  dreams — but  his  reverie  was  brought  to  an 
end  by  his  coming  suddenly  upon  Yetta,  who 
stood  in  a  doorway  overlooking  the  garden, 
gazing  dreamily  about.  This  incident,  coupled 
with  his  romantic  train  of  thoughts,  served  to 
completely  demoralize  him.  The  great  love 
he  felt  for  his  cousin  overmastered  all  thoughts 
of  further  restraint  and  he  rushed  forward, 
caught  her  in  his  arms  and  showered  kiss  after 
kiss  upon  her  roseal,  half-parted  lips. 

"Oh  Louis,  how  you  frightened  me  I"  exclaim- 
ed the  girl,  freeing  herself  from  his  grasp. 
"Were  I  your  father,"  she  angrily  resumed, 
"I  would  keep  3'ou  locked  up  all  the  time. 
You  are  positively  dangerous." 

"What  a   fine    young   lady   you    are,"  Louis 
admiringly  said,  not   heeding   her    anger.     "It. 
seems  to  me  as  if  it  were  but  yesterday  that  we 
romped    together.     What    a    rousing   girl   you 
are!" 

He  advanced  with  the  intention  of  repeating 
the  osculatory  performance. 

"I  wish  you  would  stop  those  ungentlemanly 
manners,"  Yetta  curtly  said,  pushing  him  away. 
"I  think  over-study  has  taken  away  the  little 
intelligence  you  once  possessed." 


VETTA,    THE    NUN.  21 

Louis  had  expected  a  more  amiable  recep- 
tion. 

'*Such  a  compliment  should  be  punished  with 
a  kiss,"  he  replied,  affecting  gayet}-. 

*'  Love  may  cherish  such  punishments,"  was 
the  chilling  reply  ;  "indifference  detests  them." 

Louis  made  no  reply,  but  gazed  amusedly  at 
the  angry  girl,  curious  to  discover  what  could 
be  her  motive  in  being  so  curt.  He  ob- 
served that  her  lips  trembled  like  those  of  a 
frightened  child,  and  plainly  saw  she  was  far 
from  meaning  what  she  said.  He  felt  an  irre- 
sistible yearning  to  take  her  again  in  his  arms 
and  kiss  those  pouting  lips  until  they  smiled  for 
him;  but  the  harsh  manner  in  which  she  had 
spoken  had  wounded  his  pride,  and  he  did  not 
care  to  be  too  effusive  without  first  teasing  her 
a  little.     Smiling  derisivel3S  he  said: 

*'  Your  conduct  is  not  very  laudable,  Yetta." 

*'  I  am  aware  of  it,"  was  the  quick  retort. 

"  Then  why  do  3^ou  act  that  way?" 

"  Because  I  do  not  care  to  remodel  my  char- 
acter to  suit  your  fancy." 

Louis  bit  his  lip  and  changed  his  tone  to  one 
of  conciliation. 

"  Come,"  he  said,   "  look  gay  and  do  not  be 


22  ROMANCES    OF    NEW    ORLEANS. 

r 

SO  mean.  Suppose  we  stroll  about  the  gardens? 
It  is  such  a  fine  evening  for  walking." 

/'  I  thank  you  ever  so  much,  but  I  am  tired," 
was  the  answer. 

*' Tired?"  Louis  testity  exclaimed.  *'That 
word  never  escaped  your  lips  years  ago — " 

Yetta  impatiently  interrupted  him. 

"  I  wish  you  would  cease  importuning  me 
about  my  baby  days,"^  she  said.  *'I  told  3^ou  it 
displeased  me." 

Louis  gazed  sadly  at  her. 

"  Do  I  annoy  you  ?  "  he  asked. 

*'  When  you  speak  of  our  childhood — yes." 

*'  You  really  do  not  care  to  listen  to  me?" 

"  I  have  proved  it  often  enough." 

"  It  would  then  cause  you  unutterable  joy  if  I 
left  you  alone?" 

'*  I  assure  you  it  would." 

*'  Very  well,  marble-hearted,  convent-bred 
girl,  I  will  pester  you  no  more." 

He  abruptly  left  the  room.  Yetta  looked  on 
with  unmoved  features,  but  a  tear  coursed  down 
her  cheek  as  her  lover  disappeared  from  sight. 

One  morning,  Louis  rose  earlier  than  usual 
and  wandered  about  the  garden,  pondering  over 
the    singularity  of  Yetta's  conduct.     Whenever 


VETTA,    THE    NUN.  2o 

Dr.  Alvez  or  any  member  of  the  family  were 
present,  she  was  amiable,  even  affectionate  with 
him,  but  she  would  immediately  assume  an 
attitude  of  exasperating  coldness  should  she 
find  herself  alone  with  him  and  finally  leave 
the  room   on  some  trifling  pretext. 

**That  girl  is  a  born  coquette,"  mused 
Louis,  walking  aimlessly  about.  "  I  never  had 
a  flattering  opinion  of  convents, —  Hello!" 

He  had  come  around  a  sharp  turn  of  the  path 
and  found  himself  face  to  face  with  Yetta,  who 
was  reclining  in  an  easy  chair,  apparently 
deeply  interested  in  an  illustrated  magazine. 
She  seemed  not  to  have  noticed  the  intruder. 

"  Let  me  try  a  reconciliation,"  thought  Louis. 
'*  Perhaps  she  is  in  good  humor  this  morning." 

He  advanced  toward  her  and  pleasantly 
said : 

"  Up  already,  cousin?  This  is  quite  an  unex- 
pected pleasure." 

Yetta  kept  on  reading  with  unaltered  persist- 
ency, 

Louis  gulped  down  an  angry  remark  and 
gallantly  resumed : 

*'  A  Madonna  would  envy  your  grace,  Yetta. 


24  ROMANCES    OF    XEW    ORLEANS. 

You  are  as  appetizing  as  a  rose  bud  this  morn- 
ing/' 

He  made  a  feint  of  kissing  her,  She  edged 
away  a  little  and  fixed  her  dark  eyes  upon  him. 

'*  I  detest  time-worn  compliments,"  she  said. 

'*  I  will  cheerfully  coin  new  ones  to  please 
you,"  answered  Louis. 

Again  those  dark  eyes  w^ere  raised  to  his  face 
in  frowning  rebuke. 

''  I  wish  you  would  talk  and  act  sensibh'  once 
in  your  life,"  said  their  owner,  coldly.  "  I  am 
tired  to  hear  everybody  say  we  are  going  to 
marry,  and  I  want  to  come  to  some  definite 
understanding  with  you:  Do  you  really  love 
me?" 

The  suddenness  of  the  question  took  Louis 
by  surprise. 

"  It  would  be  folly  to  deny  it,"  he  wonder- 
ingly  replied. 

"  I  felt  sure  of  it,"  Yetta  resumed,  "but  I 
wanted  to  hear  you  say  so.  Perhaps  I  also  love 
you,  but  I  can  not  confess  it.  You  do  not  un- 
derstand my  nature,  Louis.  You  think  me 
haughty  and  cruel;  could  you  read  my  thoughts 
3'ou  would  unhesitatingly  pity  me.  I  know  I 
I    make   you   suffer,  but  you  are  not  the   only 


VETTA,    THE    XUN.  2o 

one  who  feels  miserable.  Could  you  be  near 
when  I  am  alone  in  my  room  and  see  the  tears 
that  veil  my  eyes  when  I  ponder  over  my  happy, 
innocent  childhood ;  could  you  listen  to  the 
beating  of  my  aching  heart,  you  would  kneel 
before  me  and  implore  my  pardon  for  every 
unkind  word  you  spoke  to  me." 

"Sweet  love,"  said  Louis,  fondly,  "If  you 
only  knew  how  dear  you  were  to  me." 

He  made  an  effort  to  take  her  in  his  arms, 
but  the  girl  pushed  him  away,  saying: 

"  No,  Louis,  I  can  never  be  yours.  My  heart 
may  be  longing  to  remain  amid  associations  of 
a  life  which  I  can  never  revive,  but  I  must  steel 
it  against  such  thoughts.  I  must  return  to 
convent  next  week.  If  you  have  any  compas- 
sionate feeling  for  me,  do  not  make  the  parting 
harder.  Even  if  I  am  rude  with  you,  be  kind 
tome,  forgive  me!" 

She  glanced  imploringly  at  him.  He  started, 
for  he  saw  in  that  look  the  unconscious  avowal 
of  a  deep,  passionate  love,  whose  fervency  only 
death  could  obliterate.  He  felt  like  folding  her 
to  his  bosom  ;  but  she  had  so  often  repulsed 
him,  he  remained  impassive. 

"  I  admire  your  frankness,  Yetta,"   he  said, 


26  ROMANCES    OF    NEW    ORLEANS. 

quietly.  "  I  hardly  comprehend  3'our  motive, 
but  I  respect  it.  Were  you  my  wife,  my  path- 
way through  life  w^ould  be  strewn  with  thornless 
roses;  but  you  deny  me  that  happiness  and  I 
wall  do  as  you  wish.  Give  me  your  hand.  If 
w^e  can  not  be  lovers,  we  can  at  least  part  as 
friends." 

He  extended  his  hand,  but  Yetta  eluded  it. 

"  I  care  no  more  for  your  friendship  than  I 
do  for  your  love,"  was  the  haughty  remark. 
"  I  thought  you  loved  me  trul}^  and  felt  sorry 
for  you,  knowing  I  could  never  be  your  wife. 
The  nuns  rightly  told  me  that  all  men  were 
fickle  and  false-hearted,  and  it  was  foolish  of 
me  to  believe  you  sincere  for  a  single  moment. 
If  you  really  cared  for  me,  you  would  not  have 
proved  so  faint-hearted  ;  you  would  have  begged 
me  to  marry  you  with  all  the  ardor  which  true 
love  inculcates.  Instead  of  giving  me  up  so 
easily,  you  would  now  be  on  your  knees  before 
me." 

Louis  looked  coldly  at  her. 

"  I  have  never  knelt  before  a  woman,"  he 
said;   **  I  never  will." 

He  walked  rapidly  away  to  conceal  his  agita- 
tion.    When  he  had  ofot  around  the  turn  in  the 


YETTA,    THE    NUN.  27 

path,  he  stopped,  softly  retraced  his  steps  and 
peeped  at  the  scene  he  had  just  left.  Yetta's 
head  was  laid  on  her  arm  and  he  could  see  by 
her  trembling  form  that  she  was  sobbing.  A 
satisfied  smile  displaced  the  frown  which  had 
darkened  his  features  and  he  walked  away  with 
a  happier  heart.  He  was  now  certain  of  her 
love. 

A  few  hours  later  a  servant  broug-ht  the 
3'oung  doctor  the  appended  note  : 

"Dear  Louis — I  hope  you  are  not  angry  be- 
cause I  treated  you  so  unkindly  this  morning. 
I  felt  nervous  and  did  not  mean  half  the  things 
I  said.  I  am  going  to  make  a  pilgrimage  to  the 
Lover's  Oak  just  now;  meet  me  there  as  soon 
as  you  can  escape  from  that  nasty  old  labora- 
tory and  we  can  talk  about  anything  you  like. 

"Yetta." 

Louis  tore  the  note  into  minute  pieces. 

"I  will  do  no  such  thing,"  he  said.  "If  she 
thinks  she  can  make  a  jumping-jack  out  of  me, 
she  is  mistaken.  Hang  those  convent  girls, 
anyhow.  I  wonder  if  they  are  all  as  chameleon- 
like as  Yetta?" 

He  went  to  his  desk  and  began  to  attend  to 
routine  business.     By  some    inexplicable   phe 
nomenon,   the   miscellaneous   rows  of  jars  and 


28  ROMANCES    OF    NEW    ORLEANS. 

bottles  about  himgradualW  vanished  and  tliere 
arose  in  their  stead  a  stately  oak,  near  which 
bubbled  a  little  fountain.  He  looked  on  more 
intently.  A  human  form  slowly  outlined  itself, 
.finally  disclosing  a  saddened,  expectant  face, 
whose  dark  eyes  were  wistfully  turned  toward 
him.  He  rubbed  his  eyes  and  looked  again — 
but  only  saw  medical  paraphernalia. 

"If  that  girl  does  not  drive  me  crazy  with  her 
sorcery,"  he  muttered,  "I  am  endowed  with 
phenomenal  mental  calibre.'' 

He  arose  with  a  sigh  and  went  toward  the 
designated  place. 


CHAPTER    III. 


See  here  :  I  shut  tight  my  weary  eyes, 
As  thousands  of  times  I've  done  in  play. 

When  I  unclose  them  in  soft  surprise, 
Ring  out  a  laugh  in  your  own  old  way  I  " 


Louis  entered  the  garden  with  wildly  beating 
heart,  and  hastened  his  steps  when  he  neared 
the  Lover's  Oak — so  called  because  it  had  been 
the  try  sting-place  of  amorous  couples  from  time 
immemorial.  As  he  drew  near,  however,  the 
spirit  of  aggressiveness    which   had  ruled  since 


YETTA,    THE    NUN.  29 

the  lovers  had  been  thrown  together,  prompted 
him  to  open  hostihties,  and  he  walked  toward 
Yetta  with  the  avowed  intention  of  getting  her 
angry.  Seeing  she  had  not  noticed  his  coming, 
he  hid  behind  a  tree  and  indulged  in  the  intel- 
lectual pastime  of  watching  her  every  move- 
ment. She  was  knitting,  and  the  sight  seemed 
to  Louis  the  prettiest  he  had  ever  witnessed. 

For  a  few  moments  Yetta  went  on  with  her 
work  in  silence;  then,  looking  up,  quietly  said: 

*'  It  seems  to  me  it  is  quite  warm  to  play 
hide-and-seek,  doctor.    Come  and  sit  near  me." 

How  gently  she  spoke  I  Louis  stared  speech- 
lessly at  her,  wondering  if  he  was  not  the  vic- 
tim of  a  delicious  vision. 

"I  see  that  you  are  revengeful,  continued 
Yetta,  in  the  same  tone.  ''Do  not  be  that  way. 
See,  I  have  made  a  nice,  cosy  place  for  you." 

And  she  pushed  aside  her  work. 

''I  am  sure  you  must  think  me  very  stupid," 
said  Louis,  taking  the  proffered  seat. 

"Not  at  all.  You  are  a  little  eccentric,  that 
is  all.  But  you  are  a  doctor  and  this  foible  is 
pardonable.  By  the  by,  we  have  spent  so 
much  time  wrangling  about  one  thing  and 
another,  that  you    did    not    once   speak    to    me 


30  ROMANCES    OF    NEW    ORLEANS. 

about  your  future  plans  or  your  profession.  I 
think  it  is  such  a  noble  one.  Confide  all  your 
secrets  to  me,  Louis." 

She  leaned  her  head  upon  her  hand  and 
looked  encouragingly  at  him.  Louis'  first 
thought  was  that  she  was  making  fun  of  him, 
and  he  opened  his  mouth  to  say  something  un- 
kind ;  but  those  clear  eyes  looking  straight  into 
his  own  disarmed  him,  and  the  harsh  words 
remained  unuttered. 

*'Do  you  really  care  to  listen  to  me?"  he 
asked,  for  want  of  something  else  to  say. 

''  If  I  was  not  interested  in  your  welfare, 
I  would  not  have  called  you  here,"  was  the  re- 
proving answer. 

Louis  hesitatingly  pressed  her  hand.  She 
made  no  resistance.  He  then  tried  to  speak, 
but  the  phrases  he  wished  to  utter  went  whirhng 
about  his  mind  in  such  wild  disorder,  that  he 
merely  stared  at  the  girl  and  kept  on  pressing 
her  hand.  Yetta's  face  became  a  deep  pink  all 
over,  the  color  going  and  coming  like  the  soft- 
ening glow  of  a  dying  ember. 

"  Why  are  you  holding  my  hand  so  tightly 
and  looking  at  me  in  such  a  funny  way?"  she 
queried,   poutlngly. 


YE'l'PA,      THE    NUN.  81 

*'I — er — that  is — er — I  was  trying  to — er — 
mesmerize  you,"  stammered  the  doctor,  hazard- 
ing any  reply. 

Yetta  looked  at  him  in  sincere  wonder. 
"  I  don't  understand,  Louis.  Please  explain." 
Louis  was  but  slightly  lamiliar  with  this  mys- 
terious science;  nevertheless,  he  began  a  graphic 
portraiture  of  its  effects  on  certain  persons,  the 
Utopian  experiments  he  had  witnessed,  etc., 
concluding  by  getting  things  so  hopelessly  con- 
fused, that  Yetta  smilingly  interrupted: 

"  I  can  not  understand  your  meaning,  but  it  is 
not  your  fault  if  I  am  dull  of  comprehension. 
From  the  faint  knowledge  I  glean  from  your 
explanation,  I  think  it  must  be  so  nice  to  be 
mesmerized.  Could  you  not  try  again?  I 
promise  not  to  disturb  you." 

The  unwilling  champion  of  Mesmer  winced 
a  little,  but  it  was  too  late  to  retreat. 

"You  must  then  remain  perfectly  still  and 
look  me  straight  in  the  eyes,"  he  gravely  re- 
marked. 

Yetta  did  so. 

Louis  arose,  made  a  few  passes,  and  said: 
"  Don't  you  feel  a  Httle  drowsy?  " 
"Never  was  so  wide  awake  in  my  life." 
"This  is  the  precursor  of  the  magnetic  cur 


32  ROMANCES    OF     NEW    ORLEANS. 

rent,"  observed  the  experimenter,  feeling  it 
mandatory  to  say  something. 

He  next  indulged  in  a  nondescript  pantomime. 

"Are  you  asleep  now?"   he  asked,  faintly. 

"Not  a  bit,''  was  the  discouraging  reply. 

Again  Louis  made  spasmodic  passes,  but 
Yetta's  e3'es  shone  with  tantalizing  clearness. 

"It  is  not  right  to  act  that  way,''  complained 
the  doctor.     "You  must  go  to  sleep." 

"  But  I  don't  feel  any  magnetic  current.  You 
know  you  said  this  was  the  principal  thing  in 
mesmerism." 

"That's  nothing;  shut  tight  your  eyes  and 
you  will  feel  it  quick  enough." 

She  languidly  closed  her  eyes.  Louis  waited 
a  few  moments  and  said  : 

"Are  you  asleep  now?'* 

"Yes." 

"  Fast  asleep  V  '" 

"Nothing  but  your  domineering  mind  can 
awake  me.'' 

The  situation  was  getting  embarrassing. 
Louis  knew  she  was  dissembling. 

'•  I  experience  a  fond  longing  to  pry  into  the 
secrets  of  your  heart,"  he  said,  in  deep,  thrilling 
tones. 


YETTA,    THE    NUX.  83 

•'  My  lieart  is  no  longer  in  m}-  power,"  came 
the  response,  in  a  voice  so  low  that  the  hyp- 
notizer  had  to  bend  \'er\'  near  to  distinguish  the 
sounds. 

•' Wluit  audacious  mortal  has  dominion  over 
it?"   he  said,  breathlessly. 

'•  The  one  whose  subtle  influence  has  over- 
mastered my  volition." 

"And  the  owner  of  the  heart,  has  she — " 

"  I  divine  your  thoughts  ere  you  can  utter 
tliem.     No,  she  has  no  desire  to  recall  it." 

Her  answers  flashed  like  lightning  ! 

'•Never  mind,"  thought  Louis,  '•  I'll  give 
you  tit  for  tat." 

He  noiselessly  slipped  away  and  walked  be- 
liind  Yetta,  intending  to  take  her  by  surprise 
and  kiss  her  upturned  lips.  He  slowly  stooped 
over  her.  Nearer  and  nearer  were  her  lips  ; 
wilder  and  wilder  beat  his  heart.  Onl}^  one 
second  and  he  would  have  tasted  the  prohibited 
ambrosia — but  the  queenly  head  was  swiftlv 
averted,  and  he  only  kissed  a  fluttering  curl. 

Louis  was  naturally  indignant. 

"I  thought  you  were  asleep,"  he  said,  frown- 
ing. 

"  I  am.     See,  mv  eyes  are  closed." 


34  ROMANCES    OF    NEW    ORLEANS. 

'*  How  then  could  you  have  seen  me  stooping 
down?" 

"  I  did  not  see  you.  I  read  what  was  going 
on  in  vour  mind/' 

"How  can  you  read  what  was  going  on  in 
my  mind,  when  it  is  /  who  mesmerized  you? 
You  are  a  little  imposter,  Yetta." 

'•You  have  mastery  over  me  in  all  matters 
which  do  not  appertain  to  loving  demonstra- 
tions— but  no  turther.  The  moment  you  feel 
the  least  desire  to  take  familiarities  with  me, 
your  dominion  ceases.  A  touch  suffices  to 
transfer  your  will  power  to  me." 

''  The  pupil  seems  to  know  more  than  its  in- 
structor," mused  Louis.  "Let  me  formulate 
a  poser.     Ah,  I  have  it!" 

He  again  faced  her  and  gravely  observed: 

•'  By  the  mastery  my  will  exercises  over  thine, 
O  I  dormant  girl,  I  command  thee  to  warble  a 
fervid  love  sonnet — a  tune  \vhich  no  mortal  ears 
have  yet  heard  and  which  mortal  lips  have  yet 
to  utter.     Selah  I     I  have  spoken." 

A  slight  tremor  passed  over  the  girl  and  her 
face  was  very  pale  as  she  replied  : 

''  Director  of    mv    subservient    mind,  must  I 


YETTA,    THE    NUN.  35 

chant  of  the  blissful  past,  the  troublous  present 
or  the  veiled  future?" 

"  Thy  soncT  must  allude  to  those  three  phases 
of  life,"  was  the  triumphant  response. 

Yetta  slightly  raised  her  head  and  sang  the 
following  strain,  in  a  voice  scarcely  audible  at 
first,  but  which  gradually  became  louder  and 
clearer  as  she  proceeded: 


PARTED. 

We  must  part ! 

Ah,  my  tones  quaver 

And  my  blanched  cheeks  paler  seem  ; 
Can  it  be  that  I  shall  never 

See  thine  eyes  with  love-looks  beam  ? 
Thou  art  pensive  'cause  my  cold  hand 

Trembles  as  it  fondles  thine, 
Telling  of  wounds  which  can  ne'er  mend — 

Wounds  enshrined  by  arts  of  thine. 

Courage ! 

See,  my  lips  are  smiling 

And  my  voice  hath  ceased  to  quaver ; 
Press  my  hand  just  once,  my  darling. 

Ere  we  drift  apart  forever. 
Though  from  thy  side  I  now  hasten. 

Still  thy  dear  face  e'er  will  haunt  me — 
Love,  I  see  thy  fond  eyes  glisten  ; 

Is  it — is  it —     No,  I  must  flee! 


80  ROMANCES    OF    NEW    ORLEANS. 

Farewell  I 

As  the  waning  starbeams 
Linger  in  the  morning  sk}- ; 
As  the  Orient  gleams  with  sunbeams 

And  the  dawn  of  day  is  nigh — 
Still,  my  lover,  I'll  be  thinking 

Of  a  face  which  makes  mine  glow. 
And  my  white  lips  will  be  pleading:     ~ 
"Darling,  'tis  7iot  time  to  go  I  " 

As  the  final  notes  of  the  soncr  floated  away, 
graduall}^  blending  with  the  trillings  of  the  birds, 
Louis  caught  Yetta  in  his  arms  and  passion- 
ately^mbraced  her.  She  gave  a  startled  cry 
and  rushed  awav  from  him. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

There  is  no  death !     The  stars  go  down 
To  rise  upon  some  fairer  shore  ; 

And,  bright  in  Heaven's  jeweled  crown, 
Thev  shine  forevermore." 


Louis  pressed  his  hands  to  his  forehead  and 
thought  over  the  occurrences  of  the  past  weeks, 
feeling  certain  he  would  become  mad  if  Yetta 
kept  on  tantalizing  him  much  longer.  Hearing 
a  slight  noise,  he  turned  around, —  and  there 
stood  Yetta,  calmly  looking  at  him  ! 


VETTA,    THE    NUX.  37 

"  For  God's  sake,  stop  tormenting  me!"  he 
cried,  putting  forth  his  hands  as  if  to  push  her 
away.  "  I  have  no  strength  left  to  deiend  my- 
self." 

''I  do  not  come  to  torment  you,"  sadly 
replied  Yetta,  resuming  her  seat.  "  If  any  one 
has  cause  to  make  reproaches,  I  should  do  so. 
I  was  playing  with  you,  and  you  should  not 
have  taken  advantage  of  my  defenceless  condi- 
tion. You  have  wronged  me  deeply,  Louis, 
for  I  now  feel  I  can  never  conquer  the  senti- 
ment I  have  for  you."  * 

She  buried  her  face  between  her  hands  and 
sobbed.  Louis  drew  her  gently  to  him  and 
soothingly  caressed  her.  She  presently  be- 
came calmer  and  said,  suddenly  : 

'^  Is  it  true  that  all  men  are  lickle-hearted 
and  false?" 

"With  a  single  exception,  yes." 

"  That  exception  is  yourself?  " 

"Of  course." 

' '  You  then  never  loved  before  ?  ' ' 

"No." 

"  Never  even  had  a  sweetheart!  " 

"  You  are  a  walking  catechism,  Yetta." 

"  You  do  not  answer  my  question." 


38  ROMANCES    OF    NEW    ORLEANS. 

"  Yes,  I  did  have  some.  But  this  does  not 
signif}'  that  I  loved.     AlH^oung  men  are —  " 

**Never  mind  other  men.  I  want  to  know 
how  many  sweethearts  you  have  liad  thus  far." 

"  That's  a  funny  question.  I  would  answer 
with  pleasure,  but  I  lost  the  set  of  books  in  which 
I  kept  their  names.'' 

He  smiled,  but  Yetta  looked  compassionately 
at  him. 

"  You  are  very  young  to  speak  so  banteringl}^ 
about  such  a  grave  subject,''  said  she.  *'Do 
3'ou  mean  to  tell  me  that  you  have  loved,  adored 
and  forgotten — all  within  the  brief  transition 
from  adolescence  to  manhood?" 

"Such  is  the  astounding  truth." 

Again  Yetta  looked  pityingh^  at  him. 

"You  are  indeed  worthy  of  commiseration," 
she  observed,  shaking  her  head.  "I  wonder  it 
God  will  forgive  you  when  the  Day  of  Judg- 
ment arrives." 

"I  do  not  believe  in  such  things,"  said  Louis. 

"Do  you  mean  to  say  you  do  not  think  the 
soul  is  immortal?" 

"I  have  faith  in  the  soul's  immortality,  but 
not  in  a  general  day  of  judgment." 

"I  fail  to  understand  your  meaning,  Louis." 

"I  will  make  it  clearer:     You  believe  in  the 


YETTA,    THE    NUN.  ^9 


revival  from  the  dead,  and  feel  certain  the  day 
will  come  when    an    angel    will    descend  from 
Heaven   and  warn  mankind  of    its  approaching 
doom.     The  tombs  throughout  the  world   will 
then  crumble  into  dust,  and   their  erst  soulless 
tenants  will  be  vivified  and  will  throng  the  earth 
once  more.     This  looks  very  pretty  as    an  alle- 
gorical dissertation,    but    can    never  happen  in 
reality.     When  a  human  being  dies  his  soul  re- 
turns   to    its    Maker,   who    allots  it  to  a  place 
suited  to  its  deportment  while  roaming  the  earth. 
In  the  meantime  the  lifeless  clay  has  been  en- 
tombed, and  soon  crumbles    into    dust.     Thus 
nothing  is  left  of  the  original  shape.     Centuries 
drag   by.      This    residue    of    a    once    animated 
creation   is  gradually    absorbed    by  the    atmos- 
phere, vanishing  forever  as  time  rolls  on.    Nows 
if  there  is   any   such   thing  as  a  general  Day  of 
Judgment,  how    can  all  the   particles  originally 
composing    the    body    be    reassembled    into    a 
compact  mass?      Can  the   elements  restore  the 
dust  they  have  wafted  throughout  the  Universe, 
and  which     has  been    mingling    with  the    exu- 
dations   from    millions  upon    millions    of    soul- 
less bodies  tor  ages  past?      It  is  undeniably  im- 
possible." 


40  ROMANCES    OF    NEW    ORLEANS. 

Yetta  seemed  bewildered. 

''  i\nd  the  soul,  Louis,"  said  she,  "is  its  mis- 
sion ended  when  it  leaves  the  body?" 

"No,  it  is  immortal.  If  it  is  a  crime-haunted 
soul,  it  is  whirled  into  the  deepest  abyss  of  the 
infernal  regions,  where  it  squirms  in  eternal 
agon}'.  If,  on  the  contrar}^  its  career  has  been 
pure.  It  is  sent  into  other  worlds,  where  it  enters 
the  body  of  a  new-born  babe  and  shields  its 
after  life  from  harm." 

'•  The  soul  is  then  simply  one's  guardian 
angel?" 

"  You  may  call  it  thus." 

Yetta  remained  thoughtful  for  a  few  mo- 
ments. 

"You  speak  of  other  worlds,  Louis,"  she 
soon  resumed,  wonderingly;  "  what  do  you 
mean  b}^  this?" 

t' Every  star  in  the  firmament  is  more  or  less 
populated." 

The  girl  fixed  her  troubled  gaze  upon  her 
cousin. 

"The  nuns  never  told  me  all  this,"  said  she, 
simply.  "  I  was  made  to  believe  that  there  was 
nothing  but  gaping  nothingness  beyond  the 
clouds.     Is  there  no  limit  to  the  universe,  Louis." 


YETTA,    THE    NUN.  41 

"Space  is  unfettered  by  measurement.  Be- 
yond this  world  are  others.  Above,  around — 
everywhere  you  may  look,  a  star  will  always 
greet  your  vision.  This  star  is  a  living  world, 
peopled  with  beings  who,  as  they  glance  in  our 
direction,  perhaps  wonder  what  is  that  insignifi- 
cant speck  in  the  heavens,  billions  of  miles  from 
them." 

"  How  strange  all  this  is,"  vaguely  observed 
Yetta.  '*  I  never  would  have  dreamed  that 
such  wonderful  things  existed.  What  will  be- 
come of  all  these  planets,  Louis,  when  the  end 
of  the  world  comes?  Will  they  all  unite  in  a 
solid  mass,  or — or — " 

She  stopped  short  and  looked  helplessly  at 
the  doctor,  who  smiled  at  her  bewilderment. 

"  I — I  can  not  conjecture,"  she  said.  "  The 
subject  is  too  deep  for  me." 

"The  world  will  never  come  to  an  end," 
Louis  quietly  said.  "  The  earth  might  be 
shattered,  stars  may  forsake  their  courses  and 
crash  against  each  other  through  space,  but 
there  will  always  be  millions  left — thousands  of 
new  ones  created  out  of  their  chaos." 

"  Matter  is  then  imperishable?" 

"The  reconstruction  of  the  universe  goes  on 


42  ROMANCES    OF    NEW    ORLEANS. 

everlastingly.  Watch  the  sky  attentively  for  a 
few  weeks  and  3'ou  will  notice  its  changeabilit^^ 
AW  around  us  old  worlds  are  dying  out  and  new 
ones  springing  from  their  ruins.  This  is  evi- 
denced by  the  fact  that  stars  which  were  plainly 
visible  to  the  naked  eye  3'ears  ago  suddenly  dis- 
appear and  are  never  seen  again.  The  fixed 
stars  that  3-ou  admire  so  much  on  a  radiant 
night  may  have  been  annihilated  centuries  ago: 
the  light  which  reaches  3'our  vision  is  sim- 
pl3^  its  beam,  which  has  perhaps  been  travel- 
ing through  space  since  its  source  was  shattered 
C3xles  ago.  This  explains  WI13'  3'Ou  sometimes 
see  a  star  suddenh'  flare  with  intensity,  then  as 
swifth'  die  out.  It  is  the  tale  of  a  catastrophe 
which  happened  long  vears  ago,  ere  3'our  great- 
great-grandparents  were  born." 

"  How  frightful !"  exclaimed  Yetta,  pressing- 
closer  to  the  speaker.  ''  It  makes  me  shiver  to 
think  of  all  this.  Is  it  reall3' true  that  all  things 
will  never  come  to  an  end?" 

"  The  machiner3' of  the  universe  will  never 
stop.  Matter  is  indestructible:  the  soul  im- 
mortal. When  your  heart"  s  pulsations  are  stilled 
and  3'Our  lips  closed  in  ic3'  immutabilitv,  30ur 
soul  soars  through   space,  speeding  on,  on,  on, 


YETTA,    THE    NUN.  43 

until  it  reaches  the  throne  of  the  Ever  Living, 
the  God  who  moulded  it.  It  may  then  be  sent 
to  animate  a  human  frame  millions — aye,  bil- 
lions— of  leagues  away,  but  the  time  comes 
w^hen  it  also  abandons  this  clayey  tenement  and 
seeks  another  habitation.  Thus  it  wanders 
with  ceaseless  toil  until  centuries  and  centuries 
pass  by  and  the  universe  is  studded  anew  with 
worlds." 

Yetta  pressed  her  hands  to  her  temples. 

"I — I  can  not  countenance  it,"  she  faltered. 
"All  this  is  beyond  my  comprehension  and 
makes  my  thoughts  whirl  as  leaves  in  the  grasp 
of  a  hurricane." 

She  cast  down  her  eyes  and  was  soon  lost  in 
meditation. 


CHAPTER  V. 

Now  back  to  the  world  and  let  Fate  do  her  worst 
On  the  heart  that  for  thee  such  devotion  hath  nursed. 


Louis  had  reached  the  conclusion  that  Yetta 
had  this  time  permanently  strayed  into  dream- 
land, when  she  suddenly  remarked: 

"  I  have  seriously  considered  the  matter  and 


44  ROMANCES    OF    NEW    ORLEANS. 

I  think  it  is  best  we  should  never  marry.  As  I 
have  not  yet  taken  the  veil,  the  Church  would 
release  me  from  my  hasty  vow,  but  I  am  afraid 
to  be  free.  I  can  never  have  unlimited  confi- 
dence in  you.  You  are  too  learned  in  worldly 
ways.  You  are  an  irredeemable  inconstant  and 
can  never  make  me  happy." 

*'  You  are  evidently  losing  your  temper,  my 
dear,"  said  Louis,  amusedl}'.  '*  Come,  let  us 
kiss  and  'make  up.     You  know  I  adore  you." 

He  put  his  arm  around  her  waist,  but  she 
angrily  pushed  it  away. 

"Do  not  touch  me  I"  she  exclaimed,  scorn- 
lullv.  ''This  self-same  expression  you  have 
repeated  to  as  many  girls  as  were  foolish 
enough  to  listen  to  you,  and  the  caresses  you 
wish  to  give  me  have*been  lavished  upon  wo- 
men whose  features  you  do  not  even  remember. 
How  can  I  help  doubting  your  sincerity?  I 
have  bared  my  heart  to  you,  telHng  you  all  my 
sorrows,  yet  you  look  on  with  pitiless  indiffer- 
ence, turning   into   ridicule   everything  I  say." 

Louis  hesitatingly  approached  her.  She  did 
not  repel  him,  but  fixed  her  troublous  eyes  re- 
proachfully upon  his  face. 

"  God  knows  I  do  not  act  thus  to  pain  you," 


YETTA,    THE    NUN.  45 

he  kindly  said.  '' You  are  the  most  volcanic, 
most  romantic  girl  I  ever  met,  and  I  am  sure 
you  do  not  mean  half  the  things  you  say.  The 
nuns  have  taught  you  from  girlhood  to  think 
that  way  and  you  can  not  help  it.  When  you 
have  seen  a  little  of  the  world,  you  will  laugh 
at  those  fantastic  ideas,  which  one  only  meets 
in  sensational  novels." 

Yetta  looked  thoughtfully  at  the  speaker,  but 
said  nothing.     Encouraged,  he  resumed: 

*'Let  us  put  a  stop  to  this  nonsense,  Yetta. 
I  love  3^ou  sincerely,  and  life  without  you  would 
be  shorn  of  all  that  is  sublime  in  the  world." 

Yetta  thrust  her  hand  in  her  bosom  and  drew 
forth  a  small  crucifix. 

*^  Kiss  this  holy  cross  and  swear  by  the 
Divinity  we  both  adore  that  you  are  serious," 
she  said. 

Louis  looked  at  the  earnest  girl  in  speechless 
wonder. 

**Doyou  refuse?"   she  asked,  tremulously. 

The  young  doctor  pressed  the  sacred  metal 
to  his  lips. 

"I  swear  T  love  you  truly,"  he  said,  his 
voice     trembling     with     suppressed      emotion. 


40  ROMANCES    OF    NEW    ORLEANS. 

'*What  further  proof  do  you  want?  Speak  and 
you  will  be  obeyed." 

Yetta  replaced  the  crucifix  in  her  bosom  and 
said: 

'•I  am  satisfied,  Louis.  You  may  be  false- 
hearted, but  I  believe  you  are  honorable  and 
would  not  perjure  yourself  to  please  a  woman. 
I  love  you,  but  how  can  I  know  m}^  passion  is 
lastinor?  You  are  the  first  man  who  has  ever 
kissed  me,  the  only  one  who  has  talked  so 
strangely  sweet  to  me,  and  I  can  not  help  feeling, 
for  you  a  fascination  which  I  can  not  define. 
Suppose  I  become  your  bride  and  then  meet  the 
one  I  am  destined  to  love  unreservedly,  what 
will  become  of  me?  I  would  break  your  heart 
and  lose  my  soul  forever."  She  stopped  a 
moment,  then  resum*ed:  '*Letus  estrange  our- 
selves for  a  year.  During  that  time  I  will 
go  into  society?  encourage  admirers  and  flirt 
with  whomsoever  I  fancy.  If  I  love  you  truly, 
my  heart  will  remain  unchanged;  if  I  am  sim- 
ply infatuated,  ^-ou  will  be  saved  the  humiliation 
of  marrying  a  woman  who  cared  but  lightly 
for  you." 

Louis  gazed  amazedly  at  his  cousin.  Of  all 
her  queer  notions,   this   certainly  was   the  most 


VETTA,    THE     NUX.  47 

extraordinary.  Surely,  true  love  could  never 
harbor  in  such  a  hardened  heart.  .  He  had 
blindly  trusted  her,  feeling  certain  she  cared  lor 
him,  and  the  idea  that  she  was  perhaps  toying 
with  him  made  the  blood  surge  through  his 
veins  like  molten  lava.  The  madcap  blood  ol 
his  Spanish  ancestors  made  the  sting  of  defeat 
still  more  penetrating.  He  controlled  himself, 
however,  and  said,  in  tones  he  vainly  strove  to 
render  dispassionate  : 

'^You  had  better  become  a  nun,  Yetta.  It 
would  be  decidedly  unwise  for  you  to  marry ; 
you  might  tire  of  your  husband  ere  the  honey- 
moon is  over  and  cry  for  your  cherished  con- 
vent." 

He  approached  nearer  to  her  and  continued, 
getting  angrier  at  every  sentence: 

'•Return  to  your  nunnery,  misguided  girl, 
and  remain  there  until  eternity.  Seek  salvation 
in  the  arms  of  those  pale-faced  nuns.  Let 
them  pray  night  and  day  to  remove  the  stain  my 
caresses  have  engrafted  on  your  soul.  In  after 
years,  when  the  voice  which  now  blanches  your 
cheeks  and  kindles  your  eyes  with  sudden  flame 
is  forever  hushed,  you  will  perhaps  give  a  sor- 
rowful thought  to  the  memory  of  one  whose  re- 


48  ho:maxces  of  new  Orleans. 

jected  love  your  whole  soul  yearns  to  recall. 
When  you^ — " 

But  the  sentence  remained  unfinished.  Her 
eyes  flashing  with  the  fire  of  wounded  pride, 
Yetta  angrily  pressed  her  hand  to  his  mouth, 
checking  his  mad-brain  speech.  She  then 
placed  a  trembling   hand   on  his  arm  and  said: 

'*  I  will  make  you  regret  those  words,  impet- 
uous boy  !  I  will  not  return  to  convent,  but  will 
remain  to  wring  your  heart  with  despair  and 
make  you  idolize  me  slill  more  fondly  than  you 
now  do.  I  swear  by  the  memory  of  my  saintly 
ancestors  that  I  love  you:  but  you  might  im- 
plore me  to  marry  you  a  thousand  times  more 
madly  than  you  have  thus  far  done— I  will  never 
be  yours  !" 

She  attempted  to  rise,  but  Louis  grasped  her 
arm  and  compelled  her  to  sit  beside  him  again. 

"You  swear  you  will  never  marry,''  he  ex- 
claimed in  faltering  tones.  "This  is  idle  talk. 
imperious  girl  I  You  love  me,  distractedly,  and 
it  lies  within  m}^  power  to  make  you  sway  to  my 
\\\\\.  Youzui'/lhG  rtiy  wife,  I  tell  you !  I  will 
fan  your  passion  into  such  soul-consuming 
fierceness  that  you  will  weepingly  seek  me  and 
implore  me  on  bended  knees  to  assuage  your 
anguish  !'" 


YETTA,    THE    NUN.  49 

Yetta  looked  defiantly  at  him.  Pushing  him 
away  from  her,  she  quietly  arose  and  walked 
off.  Involuntarily,  Louis  stretched  forth  his 
arms,  hoping  she  would  turn  back,  but  she  kept 
firmlv  on  and  soon  vanished  throusfh  the  som- 
bre  oaks. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

Love,  when  true,  can  never  die; 
Sweethearts  part,  but  still  they  sigh 


From  the  time  of  their  stormy  interview  under 
the  Lovers'  Oak,  the  cousins  never  met  without 
exchanging  unkind  words.  Everywhere  they 
found  themselves  face  to  face,  they  would  con- 
tradict each  other  on  the  simplest  subjects, 
smiling  pleasantly  all  the  while,  but  choosing 
expressions  they  knew  would  lacerate  the  heart 
at  which  it  was  aimed. 

Louis  soon  felt  he  was  growing  into  a  state  of 
alarming  professional  uselessness.  He  lost  all 
interest  in  medical  subjects,  his  thoughts  wan- 
dering to  Yetta  or  some  particular  act  of  annoy- 
ance he  could  do  her,  whenever  he  began  any 
rational  work.  He  finally  resolved  to  bring 
4 


50  ROMAN'CES    OF    NEW    ORLEANS. 

matters  to  a  crisis.  He  had  tried  all  he  could 
to  make  her  consent  to  become  his  bride  and 
he  would  now  attempt  a  last  ruse — make  love  to 
another  girl.  He  knew  what  a  potent  factor 
jealousy  was  in  love.  He  had  proofs  that 
it  was  a  passion  which  corroded  the  pur- 
est hearts  and  burned  a  pathway  to  the 
deepest  recesses  of  the  soul.  He  no  more 
doubted  that  Yetta  loved  him.  Often  he  felt 
tempted  to  kneel  before  her  and  implore 
her  to  ease  his  anguish;  but  the  demon  of  pride 
would  stalk  before  him  and  chill  any  conciliatory 
demonstrations. 

Louis  soon  had  an  opportunity  to  begin 
carrying  his  idea  into  execution.  Dr.  Alvez's 
business  increasing,  he  procured  the  services 
of  an  eminent  American  chemist,  Mr.  Carleton 
Hevlin,  who  was  given  a  suite  of  rooms  in  the 
Doctor's  residence. 

Mr.  Hevlin  was  a  widower.  He  had  only 
one  child,  Lulie,  a  sweet,  blue-eyed  lassie  of 
seventeen. 

Of  course  it  seemed  perfectly  natural  that 
Louis  should  be  amiable  with  Lulie.  Being  his 
guest,  it  was  his  duty  to  see  that  she  was  well 
cared  for  and  felt  no  restraint  in  her  new  home. 


YETTA,    THE    NUN.  51 

How   well  he  discharged  his  task,  will  be  seen 
later  on. 

A  strong  friendship  had  sprung  between 
Luhe  and  Yetta.  This  at  first  annoyed  Louis 
and  made  him  doubt  the  feasibility  of  his  plan, 
but  he  rightly  concluded  that  the  proud  girl  kept 
her  secret  locked  in  her  breast  and  Lulie 
suspected  nothing. 

Child  that  he  was  to  thus  trifle  with  love. 
His  insane  wish  to  render  Yetta  jealous  made 
him  blind  to  everything.  He  never  gave 
consideration  to  the  fact  that  Lulie  was 
young  and  inexperienced  and  little  suspected 
what  ravages  he  was  working  in  her  trust- 
ing heart.  He  merely  noticed  Yetta's  restless 
look  whenever  he  went  out  alone  with  his  new 
love,  and  smiled  contentedly. 

One   evening    Louis   entered  the  parlor  and 
found  only  Yetta  present. 

"Where's  Lulie?"   he  queried,  with  feigned 
annoyance. 

"  She  is  in  the  garden,"  replied  Yetta,  indif- 
ferently     "  I  can  spare  your  company." 

Louis  thoughtfully  contemplated  his  cousin. 
'«  Suppose  I  find  this  spot  more  attractive?" 
he  observed,  seating  himself  near  by. 


52  ROMANCES    OF    NEW    ORLEANS. 

*'  I  would  leave  you  in  undisputed  posses- 
sion of  it,"  retorted  Yetta,  walking  out  of  the 
room. 

**  She  is  getting  paler  day  by  day,"  mused 
Louis,  a  remorseful  sensation  in  his  breast. 
*'  But  she  looks  so  beautiful  when  her  eyes 
flash  in  anger — when  her  bosom  heaves  with 
suppressed  emotions  and  her  fingers  tremble  to 
clutch  and  hurt  me — that  it  would  be  a  pity  to 
give  up  Lulie.  You  make  me  suffer,  overproud 
girl,  but  two  can  play  at  that  game." 

He  repressed  a  sigh  and  went  in  search  of 
Lulie.  As  he  neared  the  end  of  the  path  lead- 
ing to  the  summer-house,  he  perceived  her 
seated  at  a  window,  busil}'  knitting.  She 
feigned  not  to  have  noticed  his  coming,  but  her 
nervousness  betrayed  her. 

Louis  stepped  to  the  window  and  stood  look- 
ing at  her. 

"  Cruel  girl!"  he  reproachfully  said,  pinch- 
ing her  tempting  pink  ear. 

She  gave  a  cry  of  joyful  surprise. 
"Is  that  you,  Louis?"  she  exclaimed.    "You 
came  in  so  noiselessly,  I  did  not  hear  you." 
"  You  are  a  little  story-teller,"  was  the  laugh- 


YETTA,    THE    NUN.  53 

ing  rejoinder.  "You  did  see  me  coming,  and 
I  defy  you  to  look  into  my  face  and  deny  it. 
Bring  that  dear  head  closer  that  I  may  kiss  those 
cherub  lips." 

"  No  you  won't,  "  answered  Lulie,  draw- 
ing back  a  little;  "  I  don't  think  it's  nice  man- 
ners." 

Louis  moodily  w^alked  up  the  steps  and  sat 
down  in  a  remote  corner. 

"Are  you  angry?"  said  Lulie,  seating  herself 
near  him;  ^'I'm  sure  I  said  nothing  to  hurt 
your  feelings." 

"  You  refused  to  kiss  me,"  muttered  Louis, 
sadly. 

Lulie  laughed  merrily. 

"  Is  that  all?"    she  said;    "I  do  not  deny  it." 

"  And  I,  who  thought  myself  so  w-elcome 
when  I  was  beside  you,"  sighed  the  hypocrite. 

Lulie  fixed  her  gaze  on  the  ground. 

"  I  can  not  kiss  you,"  she  said,  lowly. 

Louis  looked  apprehensively  at  her.  Could 
Yetta  have  been  opening  her  eyes  to  the  true 
state  of  things? 

*'Why  this  sudden  coolness,  LuHe?"  he  said, 
uneasily.      "See  how  close    my  lips  are:   you 


54  ROMANCES    OF    NEW    ORLEANS. 

have  mere!}'  to  turn  your  head  a  little  to  louch 
them  with  yours." 

''It  would  not  be  right  lor  me  to  do  so,''  was 
the  gentle  response.  "Last  night  I  was  count- 
ing the  kisses  you  had  stolen  from  me,  and  I 
did  not  have  enough  fingers  to  check  them  all. 
So  I  resolved  to  put  a  stop  to  these  familiar- 
ities. You  might  see  nothing  wrong  now,  but 
later  on  you  will  say:  'That  girl  allowed  me 
to  kiss  her  without  being  engaged  to  me ;  of 
course  I  can't  marry  her.'  That's  the  wa}^ 
men  are." 

She  gave  a  decided  toss  of  her  golden 
curls.  Louis  felt  relieved  and  smiled  at  her 
oddity. 

"You  are  a  grand  rascal,"  he  said.  "Sup- 
pose I  was  3'our  affianced,  would  you  kiss  me?', 

"I  presume  so.  That  is  what  people  get 
engaged  for.  " 

"I  do  not  know  how  to  begin,"  w^as  the 
mournful  plaint. 

"What  an  absent-minded  boy  you  are  I  Why, 
vou  have  asked  me  to  marry  you  at  least  a 
dozen  times  in  your  poems." 

"Poetry  and  reality  are  different  things." 

"Well,  I  guess  I'll  have  to  teach  you." 


YETTA,    THE    NON.  55 

She  put  aside  her  work.  Louis  curiously 
watched  her,  but  was  not  allowed  a  long  time 
for  observation.  Seating  herself  with  an  air  of 
unruffled  dignity,  the  self-appointed  preceptor 
began  : 

*«You  must  first  clasp  my  hand." 
Louis  did  so. 

*'Now,  look  as  if  you  expected  the  earth  was 
going  to  swallow  you  up." 

An  agonized  expression  overspread  his  counte- 
nance. 

*'  You  must  now  go  on  your  knees  before  me 

how  your  hand  trembles  !     It  is  not  yet  time 

to  tremble;    this  comes  only  after  kneehng." 

Louis  hesitated.  The  words  he  had  repeated 
to  Yetta,  *'  /  have  never  knelt  before  a  woman; 
I  never  will,''  rang  in  his  ears. 

"  How  pale  you  are,  Louis,"  resumed  Lulie. 
"  Kneel  before  your  queen;  I  promise  she  will 
not  be  tyrannical." 

He  obeyed.  The  vibrations  of  his  heart 
were  painfully  irregular;  but  he  looked  up  into 
LuHe's  smiling  face  and  the  pain  was  somewhat 
eased. 

*'  Now,"  resumed  the  gentle  autocrat,  '*  pre- 
pare for  the  ordeal.     Look  as  miserable  as  you 


56  ROMANCES    OF    NEW    ORLEANS. 

can  and  say  in  trembling  tones:  '  Miss  Hevlin, 
ever  since  my  gaze  rested  on  your  seraphic 
features  I  have  worshiped  you  night  and  day. 
Consent,  O!  enchanting  miss,  to  become  my 
bride,  or  my  existence  will  be  an  eternity  of 
despair.'  " 

Louis  repeated  the  sentence  word  for  word. 

*'Your  sentiments  find  an  echoing  thrill  in 
my  heart,  imploring  youth,"  resumed  Lube, 
sweetly  bending  over  her  lover.  "Assume  your 
customary  attitude  and  be  welcome  to  all  the 
privileges  of  an  affianced." 

Before  Louis  had  time  to  arise,  she  playfully 
passed  her  arm  around  his  neck  and  pressed  her 
lips  to  his.  It  was  a  pure,  girlish  embrace, 
free  from  voluptuousness — just  the  sort  of  ca- 
ress one  would  expect  from  a  mirthful  child. 
This  innocent'  demonstration  of  love  caused  an 
enthralling  sensation  to  possess  the  unhappy 
young  doctor.  For  the  first  time  since  parting 
from  Yetta  he  really  felt  happ}^  He  reasoned 
that  the  love  of  this  dear  girl  would  be  a  greater 
boon  to  him  than  the  passion  of  a  convent-bred 
creature,  w^hose  untenable  way  of  thinking 
would  always  prompt  her  to  render  his  life  mis- 
erable. 


YETTA,    THE    NUN.  -  0/ 

He  sat  beside  Lulie  with  the  old  sensation  of 
tranquillity  in  his  breast,  and  fondly  saidi 

*' You  do  not  know,  my  darling,  how  happy 
I  am,  now  that  I  feel  assured  you  really  care  for 
me.  Come,  let  us  walk  around  the  garden. 
The  birds  will  watch  us  with  envious  eyes 
and  the  heavens  will  bend  over  us  and  bless  our 
happiness.     Come,  sweetness." 

He  arose  and  extended  his  hand.  Lulie 
gleefully  grasped  it  and  they  ran  down  the  steps 
like  madcap  children.  A  pet  rabbit  of  LuHe's, 
which  happened  to  be  peacefully  dozing  in  a 
corner,  looked  up  in  affright  at  the  lovers'  sud- 
den exit  and  bolted  away  as  fast  as  its  httle  legs 
could  carry  it.  Lulie  chased  it,  but  it  soon 
outstripped  her  and  disappeared  in  the  shrub- 
bery. Ere  Louis  was  aware  of  it,  they  had 
reached  the  Lovers'  Oak  and  seated  themselves 
beneath  its  patriarchal  boughs. 

Lulie  presently  observed: 

''  Do  you  remember  that  love  song  you  taught 
me  a  few  weeks  ago  ?  ' ' 

Louis  nodded. 

**  Suppose  we  sing  it?  " 

''  Just  as  you  say,  dearest." 


58  ROMANCES    OF    NEW    ORLEANS. 

Clasping  each  other's  hands,  the  lovers  sang 
the  following  strain: 

SHE   AND    I. 
(^Ballad.^ 

We  were  wooing  in  the  starlight, 

She  and  I ; 
We  were  bidding  sweetest  good-night 

'Neath  the  sky. 
Ah,  our  hearts  were  wildly  beating. 
And  the  future  dawned  enchanting, 
As  our  lips  were  pressed  at  parting, 

With  a  sigh!  (^bis.^ 

We  were  at  the  altar  kneeling, 

She  and  I ; 
Angels  from  above  were  peeping 

To  espy 
And  to  watch  love's  flow'rets  springing. 
As  we  both  began  life's  morning, 
Anthems  sweet  and  loving  flinging 

To  the  sky  I  (^bis.) 

We  are  seated  in  the  starlight. 

She  and  I ; 
We  are  speaking  o'er  life's  days  bright. 

Long  gone  by. 
Though  lier  tresses  care  has  silver'd. 
And  my  frame  with  age  is  fetter' d. 
Still  our  love  is  deep  and  treasur'd 

Ne'er  to  die  I  {bis.) 


YETtA,    THE    NUX.  59 

As  the  last  echoes  of  the  song  finally  died 
out,  Louis  heard  a  crackling  noise  behind  him 
and  started  to  his  feet,  filled  with  an  undefined 
apprehension  of  danger.  He  glanced  uneasily 
about,  but  seeing  nothing  unusual,  resumed  his 
seat. 

"How  nervous  you  are,"  exclaimed  Lulie. 
"It  must  have  been  that  same  little  rogue  I  was 
chasing  a  few  moments  ago.  Talk  love  to  me. 
All  your  poetry  is  so  fervidly  sweet,  I  am  sure 
you  can  say  such  pretty  things  to  the  one  who 
is  dear  to  you." 

Louis  did  not  reply.  In  some  inexplicable 
manner  his  thoughts  had  suddenly  reverted  to 
Yetta,  and  he  regretted  having  so  rashly  be- 
trothed himself  to  Lulie.  He  knew  he  could 
never  care  for  her  as  he  did  for  the  strange 
girl  who  seemed  to  have  mastered  his  very 
soul.  Tears  filled  his  eyes  and  he  pressed  his 
hand  to  his  heart  to  stay  its  wild  pulsations. 

"What  is  the  matter?"  said  Lulie,  wonder- 
ingl}^  "I  am  sure  I  said  nothing  to  make  you 
feel  sorry." 

Louis  clasped  her  to  him. 

"It  is  because  I  adore  you  above  all  things, 
that  I  act  so  strangely,"    he    said,    deliriously. 


60  ROMANCES    OF    NEW    ORLEANS. 

*'Do  you  know  what  love  is,  blue-eyed  angel? 
It  is  the  subhmest,  the  most  princely  gift  of 
God  to  mankind.  It  assuages  grief,  thrills  the 
whole  world  with  happiness !  By  all  I  hold 
sacred,  I  wnll  do  my  best  to  make  you  happy. 
You  are  a  thousand  times  purer  than  those  nun- 
bred  images,  who  come  into  the  world  to  dis- 
tress mankind  with  their  lurid  views  of  life." 

Lulie  looked  at  her  lover  with  dilated  pupils. 

"How  strangely  you  talk?"  she  said.  "I 
am  almost  afraid  of  you." 

Louis  kissed  the  wondering  eyes  and  con- 
tinued : 

"You  wnll  be  m}'  treasured  bride,  sweet  girl. 
Here  is  to  bind  our  hearts.  It  is  the  Alvez  be- 
trothal ring.  Aye,  it  has  never  till  this  day  been 
the  witness  of  such  celestial  love." 

He  put  the  heirloom  around  her  finger.  Her 
head  fell  on  his  bosom  and  they  remained  for  a 
long  time  gazing  into  each  other's  eyes,  whisper- 
ing those  tender  nothings  which  onl}^  lovers 
understand.     Lulie  suddenly  started. 

"How  thoughtless  of  us,"  she  said,  fretfully. 
"We  wdll  be  late  for  supper  and  papa  wdll  scold. 
I  must  run  to  my  room  and  fix  up.  Kiss  me, 
quick." 


YETTA,    THE    NUN.  61 

Louis  obeyed  and  Lulie  ran  down  the  path. 
She  stopped  when  a  few  feet  away,  detached  a 
rose  which  nestled  in  her  hair,  and  threw  it  to 
him,  saying: 

"Keep  this  in  memory  of  to-night." 
Louis  picked  up  the  flower  and  placed  it  near 
his  heart.  As  he  did  so,  he  heard  the  same 
noise  which  had  aroused  him  while  singing  with 
Lulie.  He  looked  furtively  about  and  faintly 
made  out  the  silhouette  of  a  human  form  flitting 
between  the  trees.  He  started  in  pursuit,  but 
the  misleading  twilight  had  now  melted  into  the 
darker  shades  of  night  and  he  could  no  longer 
discern  anything. 


CHAPTER  VIL 

While  my  pulses  thrill  and  quiver, 
Thou  shalt  not  enclasp  another. 


Louis  felt  nervous  at  the  recurrence  of  the 
mysterious  noise  and  remained  for  a  long  time 
lost  in  meditation. 

"Pooh!  it's  onl3Mmagination,"  he  reasoned; 
"my  nerves  are  unstrung,  and  I  would  not  be 
surprised  to  find  a  couple  of  ghosts  waiting  for 
me  in  my  room." 


62  ROMANCES    OF    NEW    ORLEANS. 

He  went  to  his  apartment,  refreshed  himself, 
and  repaired  to  the  sitting-room.  Yetta  was 
reading,  but  Lahe  was  not  in  her  accustomed 
place.  The  young  doctor  glanced  inquiringly 
about. 

'*  Miss  Hevlin  has  retired  to  her  room,"  ob- 
served Yetta,  answering  his  look;  "She  does 
not  feel  well  to-night." 

"Do  you  mean  to  say  that  Lulie  is  ill?" 
asked  Louis,  anxiously. 

"A  slight  indisposition,"  answered  Yetta, 
carelessly;  "she  probably  caught  cold  in  the 
garden.  The  air  is  quite  chilly  to-night.  This 
will  give  you  the  opportunity  of  spending  the 
evening  in  my  company,  a  luxury  which  you 
have  not  enjoyed  for  a  long  time.  Sit  beside 
me  and  chat  a  little.  I  am  in  high  spirits  to- 
night." 

She  smilingly  put  aside  her  book. 

"  I  thank  you  ver}^  much,"  said  Louis,  coldly; 
"I  prefer  going  to  the  club." 

Yetta  arose  and  placed  a  detaining  hand  on 
his  arm. 

"  Why  are  you  so  rude?"  she  reproachfully 
said.     "  It  is  no  reason  because  we  do  not  love 


YETTA,    THE    NUN.  63 

that  we  should  be  enemies  for  Hfe.     Let  us  be 
friends  from  to-night." 

She  looked  pleadingly  into  his  face.  The 
young  man's  undefended  heart  was  powerless 
against  such  an  unexpected  attack.  The  old 
love  burned  in  his  breast  with  frenetic  ardor; 
Lulie  was  instantly  forgotten. 

"  Let  us  sit  on  this  sofa,"  said  Yetta.  *'It  is 
much  more  comfortable  than  those  high-backed 
chairs." 

Louis  obeyed.  Taking  Yetta' s  hand  in  his, 
he  tremulously  said: 

•'Why  do  you  care  for  my  company  to-night, 
Yetta?  You  who  have  been  so  cruel,  so  unre- 
lenting in  your  harshness  !  Tell  me,  sweet  girl, 
why  your  cheeks  are  as  pink  as  roses  and  your 
eyes  shine  with  unusual  lustre  to-night?  Mad- 
caps that  we  are  to  allow  the  golden  hours  to 
slip  heedlessly  by.  Rest  your  head  on  my 
bosom,  dearest,  and  tell  me  you  adore  me  with 
as  much  fervency  as  I  do  you." 

He  passed  his  arm  around  her  neck  and  drew 
her  to  him.  For  a  moment  she  remained  in 
his  arms,  then  slowly  freed  herself. 

"Do  you  love  only  me-?"  she  asked,  sud- 
denly. 


64  ROMANCES    OF    NEW    ORLEANS. 

"  I  swear  it,"  was  the  fond  answer. 

**  And  Lulie?" 

Louis  felt  the  blood  receding  from  his  face. 

"Lulie?"   he  faltered. 

"  Yes,  Lulie,"  emphasized  Yetta,  her  eyes 
flashing.  "If  you  love  me  only,  why  does  the 
mere  mention  of  that  name  frighten  you?" 

Louis  had  now  regained  his  self-control. 

"Well,  that  is  a  good  one,"  he  laughingly 
observed.  "Jealous  of  that  little  blue-eyed 
doll-baby!  I  never  gave  her  a  moment's  seri- 
ous thought,  dear.  I  was  flirting  with  her  just 
to  tease  you." 

Yetta  took  up  a  small  Bible  near  by  and 
handed  it  to  Louis,  saying  : 

"  Swear  on  this  that  you  love  me  better  than 
Lulie." 

Louis  raised  the  book  to  his  lips. 

"  I  swear— My  God,  look!' 

The  Bible  fell  to  the  floor  and  his  senses 
reeled.  He  had  suddenly  caught  sight  of  Lulie, 
who  was  seated  near  the  door  and  gazing  va- 
cantly about,  as  if  incapable  of  crediting  her 
senses. 

Yetta  looked  contemptuously  at  her  lover. 

"  What  new  lies  will  vou  now  invent,"  said 


VfeTTA,    THE    NUN.  6.1 

slie,  hotly.  "  When  she  ran  away  from  you  and 
you  h3^pocritically  pressed  the  rose  she  threw  you 
to  your  heart,  I  followed  her,  resolved  to  tell  her 
the  truth.  I  asked  her  to  come  to  my  room  after 
supper  and  there  I  told  her  of  your  rascality. 
She  indignantly  defended  you,  but  I  gradually 
opened  her  eyes,  and  she  tremblingly  surrendered 
the  ring  which  only  those  of  our  blood  have  thus 
far  worn.  Together  we  came  to  this  room,  and 
when  she  heard  your  footsteps,  I  told  her  to 
hide  behind  the  door  and  she  would  see  what  a 
knave  you  were.  See  how  distracted  she  looks — 
every  word  we  uttered  has  pierced  her  trusting 
heart.  Go  and  soothe  her  with  additional  false- 
hoods." 

She  pushed  him  toward  Lulie  with  such  pas- 
sionate force  that  he  would  have  fallen  had  he 
not  steadied  himself  by  grasping  a  chair.  Dur- 
ing Yetta's  angry  speech,  Lulie  had  remained 
immovable;  she  now  pressed  both  her  hands  to 
her  heart,  gave  a  choking  sob  and  would  have 
fallen  to  the  floor  had* not  Louis  caught  her  in 
his  arms. 

"Get  a  glass  of  water,  Yetta,  quick!"  he 
cried,  wildly. 

Yetty  glanced  scornfully  at  him. 
5 


66         ROMANCES  OF  NEW  ORLEANS. 

"  You  claim  to  be  a  doctor,"  said  she;  "you 
can  spare  my  assistance.''  Then,  changing  her 
tone  to  one  of  exquisite  sweetness:  "You  love 
me  better  than  Lulie,  do  you  not,  Louis?" 

She  bent  over  him,  a  strange  look  in  her 
eyes.  His  heart  gave  a  great  bound  to  meet  her 
own  and  his  whole  frame  quivered  with  emo- 
tion. He  felt  like  abandoning  Lulie  and  rush- 
ing into  the  aims  of  the  girl  he  adored.  But 
the  nerveless  hand  resting  in  his  felt  so  cold,  the 
pallid  face  looked  so  pitiful,  he  turned  his  head 
away  and  said,  in  tones  which  involuntarily 
trembled: 

"I  wish  you  would  stop  this  foolishness, 
Yetta.  Give  me  a  little  help,  and  this  poor  girl 
will  soon  open  her  eyes." 

He  kissed  Lulie's  brow  and  caressingly 
smoothed  her  golden  curls.  Something  flashed 
and  he  looked  up  to  discover  what  it  was.  The 
sight  which  met  his  gaze  froze  his  blood  to  icy 
coldness.  Yetta  stood  staring  at  Lulie,  her  eyes 
aflame  with  unconcealed  hatred,  a  bejeweled 
poignard  in  her  hand. 

Louis  sprang  to  his  feet. 

"Yetta,"  he  moaned,  "  are  you  mad?" 

"It  is  not  for  yoii,  coward,"  replied  Yetta, 
pushing  him  aside. 


YETTA,    THE    NUN.  67 

She  swiftly  raised  the  poi^^nard  and  attempted 
to  phinge  it  into  Liilie's  bosom.  Louis  threw 
himself  across  the  girl's  body.  The  glittering 
blade  pierced  his  breast  a  few  inches  below  the 
heart,  buried  to  the  hilt.  A  mist  passed  over 
his  eves  and  he  lost  consciousness. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

Thou  hast  called  me  thy  angel  in  moments  of  bliss, 
And  thy  angel  I'll  be,  'mid  the  horrors  of  this." 


For  months  after  the  events  narrated  in  the 
preceding  chapter,  Louis  hovered  between 
death  and  insanity.  Night  and  day  he  raved 
about  Yetta,  imploring  her  to  forgive  him  and 
begofinpf  her  to  come  back  to  him.  Sometimes 
he  imagined  that  she  relented  and  was  bending 
over  him  with  smiling  lips,  murmuring  soothing 
phrases.  When  he  held  out  his  arms,  her  eyes 
would  instantly  flash  with  the  fire  of  hate,  she 
would  become  restless  and  menacing,  and  flee 
from  him  with  a  cry  of  horror. 

When  he  finally  recovered  his  faculties  and 
was  able  to  resume  the  practice   of    his  profes- 


08  ROMAXCES    OF    NEW    ORLEANS. 

sion,  Louis  was  no  more  the  flighty,  debonair 
youth  of  old.  His  features  were  care-worn 
and  sunken,  his  erst  jet-black  hair  sprinkled 
w^ith  gray,  and  an  expression  of  settled  sadness 
glowered  in  his  eyes. 

Lulie  was  kind  to  the  invalid  during  his  con- 
valescence, but  gradually  estranged  herself 
from  him  as  he  became  stronger.  She  now- 
felt  only  indifference  for  the  one  she  thought 
she  could  love  forever,  and  pitied  him.  Hers 
had  been  a  momentary  passion — a  vounir  Sfirl's 
first  love,  and  she  experienced  neither  pain  nor 
regret  that  her  dream  had  vanished. 

No  one  spoke  of  Yetta  and  Louis  dared  not 
mention  her  n-ame.  He  had  a  vague  premoni- 
tion that  the  walls  of  St.  Veronica  Convent  en- 
tombed her,  and  many  were  the  anathemas  he 
heaped  upon  that  institution. 

One  fateful  day,  while  reading  Le  Courrier 
de  la  Loidsiane,  Louis  came  across  an  article 
headed  ^'Taking  the  Veil,"  and  carelessly 
perused  it.  But  something  tugged  at  his  heart 
and  the  paper  fell  from  his  grasp  when  he 
came  to  this  paragraph : 

•'Among  those  who  became  the  Brides  of 
Christ    was    Miss    Yetta    Delric,    of    this    city. 


YETTA,    THE    NUX. 


69 


She  will  be  known  in  religion  as  Sister  Dolores. 
The  young  lady  is  a  niece  of  our  eminent  phy- 
sician, Dr.  Carlos  Alvez." 

''Lost  forevermore  !"  Louis  passionately 
cried.  "O  God!  What  have  I  done  to  be 
accursed  w^ith  a  hopeless    love    in    the  prime  of 

life." 

He  buried  his    face    between    his    hands  and 

sobbed  like  a  child. 

"She  is  not  lost  tome,"  he  exclaimed,  rising. 
"Though  I  have  to  tear  her  away  from  the  arms  of 
those  accursed  nuns,  she  will  yet  be  my  bride." 
He  went  to  his  desk  and    wrote  a   long  letter 
to  Yetta,  beseeching  her  to  grant    him  an  inter- 
views    He  bribed   one  of    the    maids  employed 
about  the  Convent,    who    promised    to    deliver 
his    message    with   the    utmost    secrecy  and  to 
bring  an  answer  that    same    evening.     She  was 
faithful  to  her  promise— but  her    message    was 
verbal  and  conveyed  the  intelligence  that  Sister 
Dolores  was  lost  to  the  world    forever  and  sent 
her  cousin  a  crucifix  as  a  parting  souvenir. 

Louis  recogrfized  the  little  cross  which  had 
been  a  silent  witness  of  his  ardent  vow  to  Yetta, 
and  he  dashed  it  to  the  ground.  As  he  turned 
to  go,  he  met  the  astonished  gaze  of  his  mes- 
senger. 


70  ROMANCES    OF    NEW    ORLEANS. 

"What  the -deuce  are  you  gaping  at?"  he  said, 
impatiently.      "I  thought  you  were  miles  away." 

"I  was  waiting,"   was  the  sententious  reply. 

'•Waiting  for  what?    Am  I  still  your  debtor?" 

''Monsieur  will  pardon  me.  I  thought  he 
wanted  \.o  j>e7' severe.^' 

She  made  a  feint  of  going.  A  gleam  of  hope 
flashed  across  the  horizon  of  despair. 

"Wait,"  said  Louis,  eagerly.  "You  have 
given  me  an  idea." 

He  drew  forth  the  memorandum  book  in 
which  he  usually  wrote  his  prescriptions  and 
scribbled  the  following  lines: 

"Yetta — At  half-past  twelve  to-night  I  will 
scale  the  wall  of  3^our  convent  and  wait  for  you 
under  the  oak  which  stands  a  few  feet  from  the 
entrance.  If  3'ou  do  not  meet  me  there,  I  will 
seek  3^ou  in  your  cell.  Louis." 

He  :{olded  this  and  handed  it  to  the  impassive 
girl,  who  all  the  time  had  kept  her  eyes  fixed 
on  the  ground. 

"Be  careful  that  the  nuns  do  not  see  this," 
he  said,  in  admonitory  tones. 

"Monsieur  can  rely  upon  my  discretion," 
rephed  the  girl,  bowing.  She  mechanically 
thrust  the  note   into   her  bosom  and  was  in  the 


YETTA,    THE    NUN.  71 

act  of  walking  away,  when  Louis  detained  her 
with  this  remark: 

"Are  you  also  going  to  become  a  nun.''" 

The  blue  eyes  flashed  angrily. 

*«No,  indeed;  I  hate  them,"  was  the  un- 
looked-for reply. 

"  You  do  not  prove  it,"  said  Louis,  laughing. 

''On  the  contrary,  Monsieur,"  answered  the 
girl,  mischievously.  "  Do  you  think  they  would 
feel  glad  were  they  to  be  apprised  of  what  I  am 
doing  for  you?  Ha,  ha,  ha!  You  do  not  know 
all  the  tricks  I  play  them." 

She  bowed  effusively  and  walked  off,  merrily 
singing  one  of  Beranger's  arias.  Louis  turned 
his  steps  homeward  with  a  hopeful  heart,  whist- 
hng  the  tune  his  sprightly  messenger  was  chant- 
ing-   

CHAPTER  IX. 

"  They  grieved,  but  no  wail  from  their  slumbers  will  come  ; 
They  joyed,  but  the  tongue  of  their  gladness  is  dumb." 


The  second  week  of  December,  1826,  prom- 
ised to  be  a  gala  one  for  music-loving  New  Or- 
leans. Two  new  plays  were  to  be  performed 
lor  the  first  time  at  the  Orleans  Theatre:    The 


i2  ROMAN'CES    OF    NEW    ORLEANS. 

JVew  Lord  of  the  Villas^e,  by  Favieres  and  Bey- 
eldier,  and  An  Hour  of  Matrimony^  by  Etienne 
and  Dela3''rac.  These  were  to  be  followed  by 
a  one-act  vaudeville  from  Scribe's  prolific  pen, 
A   Visit  to  Bedlam. 

When  the  hour  advertised  for  the  beginning 
of  the  performance  drew  near,  every  available 
spot  was  filled  by  an  expectant  crowd;  it  seemed 
that  the  whole  city  had  turned  out  to  do  homage 
to  the  triple  bill. 

A  remarkable  incident  was  noted  by  all  and 
commented  upon  in  whispers  with  pro- 
found amazement — young  Dr.  Alvez  was 
present  I  For  the  first  time  in  many  months 
he  was  seen  gaily  chatting  with  the  ladies, 
exchanging  witticisms  with  their  escorts, 
and  criticising  timely  topics.  As  the  even- 
ing wore  on,  it  was  observed  that  he  was 
one  of  the  foremost  in  encouraging  meritorious 
artists  as  well  as  the  first  to  hiss  whenever  a 
bad  break  was  made. 

When  the  curtain  fell,  Dr.  Louis  Alvez  sud- 
denly disappeared.  He  had  agreed  to  accom- 
pany certain  frolicsome  young  fellows  to  a 
midnight  supper  with  several  feminine  members 
of  the  troupe,  and   was  eagerly  searched  for — 


YETTA,    THE    NUN.  73 

but  in  vain.  As  his  carriage  was  also  missing, 
it  was  concluded  that  he  had  gone  on  a  gallant 
adventure'with  a  dashing  soubrette  he  had  vocif- 
erously applauded  and  clandestinely  ogled 
whenever  she  appeared  on  the  stage.  Such 
feats  were  common  among  the  gilded  youth  of 
those  days  and  excited  very  little  attention, 
except  if  it  reached  the  ears  of  some  doting 
mamma  or  jealous  sweetheart,  when  the  cul- 
prit would  be  severely  reprimanded  and  only 
pardoned  on  his  solemn  promise  not  to  sin 
again.  Hence,  the  3'oung  doctor's  convivial 
friends  having  reached  the  conclusion  that  he 
w^as  perfectly  satisfied,  wherever  he  was,  re- 
paired gaily  to  the  festal  hall  and  soon  forgot 
all  about  the  absentee. 

*  *  *  *  *  * 

It  lacked  a  few  minutes  to  midnight.  The 
motly  crowd  which  had  poured  from  the  Or- 
leans Theatre,  half  an  hour  before,  highly 
pleased  with  the  plays  presented,  had  sought 
their^respectiv^e  homes — except  those  who  made 
it  a  point,  during  the  Carnival  season,  to  seek 
repose  only  when  night  ushered  morning.  But 
the  patter  of  hurrying  feet,  the  whirring  noise 
of  the  carriages    and  the  indescribable  tumult 


74  ROMANCES    OF    NEW    ORLEANS. 

incidental  to  such  occasions,  had  died  away,  to 
be  revived  the  next  night  with  the  self-same 
abandon  and  gayety. 

Sixty-four  years  ago,  our  principal  streets 
were  far  from  being  the  well-paved,  brilliantly 
lighted  thoroughfares  of  to-day.  Where  arc 
and  incandescent  lights  now  dazzle  the  sight, 
were  ungainly  oil-lamps,  swinging  and  creak- 
ing from  the  ends  of  cross-arms  nailed  upon 
some  convenient  tree.  As  will  be  surmised, 
this  gave  a  very  uncertain  light,  which  was  ex- 
tinguished whenever  an  unusually  frisky  breeze 
came  whizzing  around  the  corners. 

The  sidewalks  were  also  very  unreliable,  be- 
ing merely  hardened  ashes,  oscillating  planks 
or — more  often — the  virgin  soil,  over  which 
pedestrians  walked  with  doleful  forebodings. 
People  seldom  ventured  out  on  foot  after  sun- 
down, or,  if  they  were  compelled  to  do  so,  were 
preceded  by  slaves  carrying  enormous  lanterns. 

On  that  special  night,  nearly  all  the  lamps 
had  succumbed  to  the  impetuous  force  of  the 
wind.  The  darkness  was  intense,  objects  being 
undistinguishable  a  few  inches  distant.  Un- 
mindful of  this  cheerless  aspect,  a  man  hurried 
along  Esplanade   avenue,   guided  by  the  feeble 


YETTA,    THE    NUN.  'O 

rays  of  a  spultering  lantern  he  held  aloft.  He 
stumbled  several  times,  but  kept  on  with  una- 
bated energy.  He  soon  reached  Bourbon 
street,  into  which  he  turned,  and  walked  briskly 
forward.  When  a  few  feet  from  Peace  street, 
his  foot  caught  in  the  roots  of  a  tree  and  he 
was  thrown  violently  to  the  ground,  the  lantern 
dashing  itself  to  pieces  against  the  trunk  of  a 
tree.*  With  some  effort — for  the  fall  had  con. 
siderably  unnerved  him— the  wayfarer  regained 
his  feet  and  proceeded  with  more  caution,  press- 
ing his  hand   to   his    side   and  tottering  like  an 

aged  man. 

Few  would  have  recognized  Louis  Ah^ez  in 
diat  lagging  figure — the  youth  who  had  been  so 
sprightly,  so  joyous,  less  than  an  hour  before. 
Aye!  few  could  have  identified  that  distorted- 
colorless  face  to  be  the  erst  mirthful  countenance 
of  the  young  doctor,  whose  presence  had  caused 
so  much  excitement  at  the  old  Orleans  Theatre, 

Dr.  Alvez  had  now  reached  the  entrance 
and  stood  before  the  frowning  walls  of  St. 
Veronica  Convent,  which  loomed  up  like  a 
fortress.  He  looked  about  for  a  suitable  place 
to  jump  over,   and  was  in  the  act  of   attempting 

~*Asliattered  lantern  was  found  at  this  spot  the  day  after  Dr.  Alvez's 
disappearance.     G.  A, 


76  ROMANCES    OF    NEW    ORLEANS. 

the  feat,  when  a  light  suddenly  flared  around 
the  Union  street  angle  of  the  wall.  The  ill- 
starred  lover  hastily  clambered  down  and  hid 
behind  a  tree. 

"Some  cursed  patrolman  making  his  rounds," 
he  muttered.  "Those  nuisances  are  always 
prowling  about  when  not  needed." 

The  lantern  was  rapidly  coming  nearer  and 
Louis  apprehensively  crouched  in  the  shadow 
of  the  tree.  Just  as  it  was  about  to  pass  b3s 
the  light  came  to  a  standstill  and  he  thought 
himself  discovered. 

"I  can  certainly  make  no  tangible  explana- 
tion of  my  presence,"  he  resumed,  placing  a 
hand  on  the  butt  of  his  revolver.  "I  have  suf- 
fered too  much  to  be  baffled.  Good  God,  how 
my  wound  hurts  to-night !" 

He  was  about  stepping  from  his  concealment, 
when  the  lantern  suddenly  leaped  into  the  air, 
described  a  semi-circle,  and  forthwith  went 
out.  A  smothered  "All  right,"  came  from 
within  the  enclosure,  the  gate  noiselessly  swung 
open,  and  a  white  form  tripped  out. 

"At  last,  my  Popotte  !" 

The  voice  belonged  to  the  swinger  of  the  lan- 
tern. 


VettA,  the  nun.  // 

"  How  late  you  are,  mon  bijou^''  was  the  rat- 
tling response.  "Come,  we  must  hurry.  The 
gay  cavalier  I  was  telling  you  about — Sister  Do- 
lores' beau — will  soon  be  around,  and  we  might 
scare  him.  He  is  a  good  customer,  and  I  don't 
care  to  lose  him.  I  wonder  how  he  is  going  to 
jump  these  walls,  though?  If  he  doesn't  get 
cut  to  pieces  by  the  broken  bottles,  he'll  surely 
be  cau^t  by  one  of  the  traps.  Ah,  mon  cher, 
there  will  be  a  sensation  worth  talking  about 
when  morning  dawns.  .  .  .  What  are  you 
loitering  here  for?  Let  us  go.  Re-light  your 
lantern,  you  clumsy  darling!  " 

Louis  recognized  the  French  maid's  voice. 
The  mysterious  manoeuvres  of  the  lantern-bearer 
were  now^  clear:  he  was  her  lover,  and  the  twain 
were  going  off  to  some  midnight  masquerade. 
Greatly  relieved,  the  doctor  stepped  forward. 
The  young  girl  gave  a  startled  cry  and  clung  to 
her  companion,  who  would  undoubtedly  have 
fled  had  she  not  resorted  to  this  stratagem. 

"Don't  be  afraid,"  said  the  intruder,  re- 
assuringly. "  I  simply  want  Popotte  to  unlock 
that  adamantine  barrier  for  me.  Be  quick, 
girl!" 

Popotte    glanced  at  her  lover,    who    nodded 


78  ROMANCES    OF    NEW    ORLEANS. 

affirmatively  without  the  least  hesitation.  The 
girl  then  unlocked  the  gate  and  Louis  walked 
in.  He  heard  the  door  cre-.ik  as  it  swung 
shut  again;  Popotte's  ceaseless  babbling 
sounded  fainter  and  fainter — he  was  now 
alone  on  the  forbidden  soil.  He  guardedly 
struck  a  ligrht  and  looked  at  his  watch.  Twenty- 
five  minutes  past  twelve  !  Surely,  Yetta  must 
be  there.  He  peered  eagerly  about,  but  could 
discern  nothing.  He  waited,  and  soon  heard 
the  half-hour  bell  tolling  from  the  convent 
chapel.  Still  she  did  not  appear.  The  three- 
quarter  bell  struck — no  Yetta. 

"  It  looks  as  if  she  wants  to  defy  me,"  mut- 
tered Louis,  pacing  nervously  about.  "An 
Alvez  never  retrogrades." 

He  advanced  resolutel}' toward  the  darksome 
building.  A  hand  was  laid  on  his  arm  and  a 
voice  he  adored  tremulously  faltered: 

"I  am  here,  insane  boy:  Speak  lowly  or  we 
will  be  overheard  and  the  nuns  will  kill  you — 
kill  us  both.  I  knew  3^ou  were  mad  enough  to 
carry  out  your  threat  and  obeyed  your  sum- 
mons.    I — I — " 

She  burst  into  choking  sobs.  In  a  second, 
Louis  was  fondling    her  in    his   arms    and   the 


YETTA,    THE    NUN.  79 

beatings  of  her  outspent  heart  once  more  con- 
fessed a  love  which  ages  could  never  obliterate. 

They  sought  a  bench  near  by,  lest  the  nuns 
should  overhear  them.  They  sat  very  close  to- 
gether, so  close  that  Louis  could  feel  h.er  warm 
breath  fanning  his  cheek  and  see  her  eyes 
shining  through  the  gloom,  like  twin-stars  on  a 
radiant  night. 

What  mad  things  they  must  have  murmured 
on  that  fateful  night!  How  blissful  they  must 
have  felt,  huddled  against  each  other,  heedless 
of  the  fleeting  hours  !  It  was  only  when  they 
heard  the  twitter  of  the  birds  and  saw  the  dark- 
ness gradually  blending  with  the  whitish  light 
of  morn  that  their    thoughts  returned  to  earth. 

Louis  pressed  a  fervid  kiss  on  Yetta's  lips. 

*'  We  must  now  part,  my  darhng,"  he  faltered. 

The  girl  threw  herself  in  his  arms. 

"  Take  me  with  3^ou  !  "  she  cried,  deliriously. 
'*I  adore  you  more  than  my  God — take  me  away 
from  this  awful  place,  which  fetters  my  body, 
but  can  not  restrain  the  leapings  of  my  heart ! 
Let  us  seek  some  remote  corner  of  the  globe, 
where  you  will  make  me  your  bride."  She 
stopped 'short  and  buried  her  face  in  her  hands. 
*'No,  no  !   that  can  never  be,"  she  moaned.  **No 


8D  ROMANCES    OF    NEW   ORLEANS. 

priest  will  marry  a  nun  who  has  proved  faithless 
to  her  vows.  Go,  leave  me  to  expiate  the  wrong 
I  did  you." 

She  caught  his  head  between  her  hands, 
repeatedly  kissed  him,  and  darted  away.  He 
sprang  after  her,  but  fell  back  with  a  groan. 
In  a  moment,  she  was  again  beside  him. 

*'I  tell  you  we  must  part,"  she  wildly  ex- 
claimed. "Be  courageous,  m}^ — is — is  this 
blood?" 

"My  wound — has — broken — out,"  gasped 
the  youth.     "Kiss — me — farewell, — Yetta." 

He  caught  her  hand  to  press  it  to  his  lips,  but 
it  fell  from  his  nerveless  grasp.  Yetta  swiftly 
drew  a  bejeweled  poignard  from  her  bosom, 
ripped  open  her  lover's  garments,  and  tried  to 
stay  the  flow  of  blood  with  her  hand.  She  felt 
the  heart-throbs  becoming  fainter  and  less  reg- 
ular, a  slight  tremor  shook  the  pain-tossed 
frame — all  was  over. 

******* 

Popotte  returned  from  her  escapade  half  an 
hour  later.  She  noiselessly  slipped  in  and  was 
horrified  to  see  two  bodies  lying  side  by  side 
near  the  entrance.  Her  screams  soon  aroused 
the    nuns,   who    came  trooping  out  like  ghouls 


VETTA,    TlIK    NUN.  81 


and  viewed  with  liorretil  hair  the  ghastly 
spectacle. 

As  a  poignard  was  found  buried  in  Sister 
Dolores'  breast,  it  was  surmised  she  had  first 
stabbed  her  lover  and  then  killed  herself. 

The  bodies  were  buried  within  the  Convent 
grounds,  and  to  this  day  the  young  doctor's  dis- 
appearance has  been  a  conjectural  mystery. 


THE   END, 


LULETTE 


LULETTE. 


CHAPTER  I. 

The  widely-known  cotton  house  of  Margins 
&  Co.  had  collapsed.  Harold  Mouques,  who 
had  hut  recently  been  promoted  from  clerk  to 
chief  book-keeper  of  the  seemingly  prosperous 
concern,  found  his  air-castles  totally  demol- 
ished. He  naturally  felt  moody  and  surly  as 
he  sat  in  his  drawing-room  the  morning  follow- 
ing the  failure,  glancing  at  the  schedule  of  the 
hrm  published  in  the  newspapers. 

"  I  think  I'll  take  Knouril's  advice  and  turn 
my  back  on  this  city,"  he  mused,  half  aloud. 
"  I  have  a  httle  cash  laid  aside  and  I  might  just 
as  well  lose  it  in  the  Old  World.'" 

He  fumbled  in  his  pocket  and  took  out  a 
letter,  which  he  read  carefully  over.  The  con- 
cluding hues  were  thus  : 

"India  is  the  best  place  for  investing  your 
capital  just  now.  Look  at  me,  for  instance. 
Five    years  ago    I  came    here    with    very  little 


86  ROMANCES    OF    NEW    ORLEANS. 

money;  to-day  I  am  the  head  of  a  firm  known 
throughout  the  globe.  The  best  thing  you  can 
do  is  to  join  me.  I'll  give  you  a  cordial  Hft  in 
memory  of  old  days.  John  Knourii.." 

Harold  smiled  contentedly  and  replaced  the 
letter  in  his  pocket.  That  same  week,  he 
made  up  his  mind  to  follow  his  friend's  advice, 
and  before  the  end  of  the  month  was  on  his  way 
to  India.  When  he  arrived  at  Calcutta,  he  had  no 
difficulty  in  finding  the  house  of  Knouril  &  Co., 
famed  throughout  the  world  as  dealers  in 
precious  stones,  and  was  warmly  welcomed  by 
its  chief. 

Knouril's  prosperous  career  read  like  a  ro- 
mance. A  few  years  previously,  he  had  sud- 
denly left  New  Orleans,  without  even  a  word 
of  parting  to  his  friends.  No  explanations 
could  be  given  for  this  strange  freak.  A  few 
months  afterward,  he  had  written  to  his  old 
college-mate,  Harold  Mouques,  telling  him  of 
his  arrival  at  Calcutta  and  vowdng  never  to  re- 
turn to  Louisiana.  He  gave  no  reasons  for  his 
action,  and,  although  the  friends  had  regularly- 
corresponded  since,  the  mystery  remained  un- 
solved. 

Shortly  after  his  arrival,  Knouril  induced 
Harold    to  buy  an    interest   in    his    firm.      The 


LULETTK.  ^' 

business  prospered  wonderfully,  the  two  friends 
linally  buying  out  the  other  partners. 

One  morning  Knouril  seemed  low-spirited 
and  uneasy,  paying  little  attention  to  what 
transpired  about  him.  Upon  being  questioned 
by  Harold,  he  observed  : 

"  I  had  a  bad  dream  last  night,  old  man." 
'^Is    that    all?"     was    the    laughing    remark. 
'•You  are  supersensitive  this  morning." 

"  I  know  it's  womanish  of  me  to  be  thus,' but 
I  can't  help  feeling  rattled.  Evil  is  brooding 
somewhere." 

''What  did  you  dream  about?" 
"Home,"    was     the    reply,    given    in    such 
pathetic  accents   that  Harold  glanced  wonder- 
ingly  at  his  friend. 

''  You  seem  surprised  at  my  tenderness,"  re- 
sumed Knouril,  sadly  smihng. 

"Of  course  I  am.  I  thought  you  the  most 
unromantic  man  on  earth." 

"I  have  a  heart,  Harold.  I  thought  it  was 
of  marble,  but  the  remembrance  of  a  woman's 
loving  face  sufficed  to  make  its  old  wound  bleed 
afresh." 

'•  What  in  the  world  are  you  talking  about?" 


88  ROMAXCES    OF    XEW    ORLEANS. 

Knouril  drew  a  chair  neaip  his  own  and  said  : 

"  Sit  here  and  I'll  tell  you  all.  Vou  are  my 
chum,  my  partner,  and  ought  to  know  every- 
thing about  my  life.  Do  you  remember  how 
suddenly  I  left  New  Orleans?" 

"Yes,  especially  when  you  had  but  recently 
graduated  from  the  Tulane  Medical  College. 
Everybody  said  you  were  cranky  at  the  time.'" 

"Thanks.  But  let  me  tell  vou  my  stor}' : 
As  you  may  perhaps  remember,  I  intended 
sailing  for  Europe  to  complete  my  studies  with 
an  uncle  in  Berlin,  who  is  a  man  of  note  there. 
A  few^  weeks  before  the  time  set  for  my  de- 
parture, at  a  ball  given  at  the  Theatre  de 
rOpera,  I  met  a  young  girl  —the  prettiest  and 
most  enthrallin^r  creature  I  had  ever  seen.  I 
will  call  her  Lulette.  It  was  a  case  of  love  at 
first  sight.  I  went  wild  over  her:  her  eyes 
spoke  her  heart-thoughts.  The  day  for  my  de- 
parture drew  near.  I  formulated  innumerable 
excuses  for  postponing  same,  but  father  pos- 
itively refused  to  allow  further  delay.  I  in- 
sisted, and  finally  told  him  I  would  not  go  at  all 
if  he  did  not  do  as  I  wanted.  We  are  a  hot- 
headed family,  Harold.  When  w^e  desire  an}'- 
thing.  naught  can  turn   us  back.     Father  and  I 


I.Uf.ETTE.  8& 

quarreled,    he    strudk    me — I    retaliated.     God 
forgive  me,  but  it  was  not  my  fault." 

He  bowed  his  head  and  a  tear  coursed  down 
liis  cheek. 

'•The  rest  is  soon  told,"  he  resumed,  with 
some  effort.  ••  The  incident  was  carefully 
locked  in  our  breasts  and  the  world  never  heard 
of  it.  But  I  could  not  endure  to  face  father 
day  by  day  with  the  remembrance  of  that  fatal 
blow  o-nawinor  at  mv  heart.  Without  even  tell- 
ins  Lulette — then  mv  fiancee — farewelL  I  left 
the  city  of  my  birth  and  buried  myself  here. 
God  knows  I  have  suffered  enough  to  atone  for 
my  sin." 

Before  Harold*  could  frame  a  reply,  a  mes- 
senger rushed  in  and  handed  him  a  cablegram. 
He  glanced  at  the  superscription  and  said: 

•'  It  is  addressed  to  3^ou  personally,  John." 

Knouril's  face  became  as  pale  as  a  corpse. 

"For  Heaven's  sake,  tear  it  open  and  read," 
he  frroaned. 

Harold  obeyed.     The  contents  were  thus: 

'-  Come  home  immediately.  Father  danoer- 
ously  ill.     A  sksfor  you . 

*'  Marcel  Knouril.' 


90  ROMANCES  OF  NEW  ORLEANS. 

Knouril  pressed  both  Iftnds  to  his  forehead 
and  moaned. 

"  I  knew  it — I  knew  it,"  he  said,  in  tones  of 
pitiful  despair. 

"What  are  you  going  to  do  about  it?"  asked 
his  sympathizing  friend. 

"  The  steamship  leaves  to-morrow;   so  do  I." 


CHAPTER   II. 

A  month  after  Knouril" s  departure,  his  part- 
ner recei\ed  the  following  note,  hurriedly 
penned  : 

"Dear  Old  Pal:  Pardon  my  reprehensible 
silence.  To  tt^ll  the  truth,  I  am  so  happy  I 
can  think  of  nothing  but  Lulette.  Just  think 
of  it,  old  man,  we  will  be  married  next  month  ! 
As  I  want  you  to  dance  at  our  wedding,  leave 
the  business  in  the  hands  of  Letimlorn.  He  is 
competent  and  reliable  in  every  respect.  Fuller 
particulars  when  we  meet.  Johx." 

"Not  a  word  about  his  father,"  thought 
Harold.  "I  presume  the  old  gentleman  re- 
covered, but  John  ought  to  have  curbed  his 
ecstacies  for  awhile  to  let  me  know  how  matters 
stood.     Poor  fellow  I       His  head  is  completely 


I.ULETTK.  91 

turned  by  his  old  4ove.       Catch  me  getting  luny 
just  because  a  woman  smiles  for  me.  Ugh  !" 

He  curled  his  lips  contemptuously  and  re- 
sumed his  office  duties.  If  he  could  only  have 
pushed  aside  the  veil  which  hides  the  future 
from  mortal  gaze ! 

Within  a  week,  Harold  settled  the  most  im- 
portant transactions  of  the  firm  and  had  the 
necessary  documents  drawn  up  empowering  the 
head  clerk  of  the  house,  Stephen  Letimlorn,  to 
represent  Knouril  &  Co.  without  reservation. 
He  then  took  passage  on  board  a  steamship 
bound  for  Havre,  which  place  he  reached  just 
in  time  to  engage  a  cabin  on  the  Fletcr-de-Lys, 
the  champion  vessel  of  the  French  Transatlantic 
Line,  plying  between  Havre  and  New  York. 

On  board  the  Fleur-de-Lys  Harold  became 
acquainted  with  the  charming  Louisianian,  Miss 
Mirelle  Arcos,  whose  final  destination  also 
proved  to  be  New  Orleans.  The  young  people 
soon  became  fast  friends,  and,  as  the  voyage 
lengthened— well,  it  is  the  same,  sweet,  old 
story. 

The  Fleiir-de-Lys  was  a  strongly  built,  iron- 
plated  steamship,  under  the  command  of  Capt. 
Alcide  Ramie,  an  experienced  French  navigator. 


92  ROMAXCES    OF    NEW    ORLEANS. 

She  was  the  first  iron  merchant-vessel  to  cross 
the  Atlantic  and  was  considered  the  safest  and 
fastest  craft  afloat. 

Nothing  of  note  happened  until  the  coast  of 
New  Foundland  was  reached,  where  the  vessel 
came  upon  a  water-logged  Norwegian  barque. 
Capt.  Ramie  took  care  of  her  crew,  who  were 
nearly  famished.  The  master  of  the  barque 
reported  having  been  wrecked  by  icebergs  and 
warned  the  seamen  to  keep  a  sharp  look-out. 

Capt.  Ramie  burst  into  a  hearty  laugh  at  this 
caution. 

''Icebergs?'"  he  said,  contemptuously.  "This 
is  not  a  bath-tub.  Why,  man,  we  can  steam 
right  through  a  mountain  of  ice  as  high  and 
thick  as  the  Great  St.  Bernard  and  come  out 
unharmed !" 

A  boast  which  was  assuredly -monumental, 
but  the  gallant  tar  spoke  with  such  earnestness 
that  the  passengers  and  crew  applauded  unani- 
mously. 

The  next  day  and  the  one  following,  the  ves- 
sel steamed  through  numberless  floes,  which 
crashed  and  bumped  against  its  iron  sides. 
Huge  icebergs  were  observed  in  the  distance, 
but  no  one  felt  any  apprehension.     The  FleuT' 


I.ULETTE.  93 

de-lys  was  proof  against  such  insignificant 
obstructions  and  kept  on  her  course  unfettered 
by  their  presence. 

Evening  came.  A  thick  mist  arose,  envel- 
oping the  ship  in  a  veil  of  impenetrable  thick- 
ness. As  regularly  as  the  ticks  of  a  faithful 
clock,  the  fog-whistle  echoed  its  notes  of  warn- 
ing, increasing  in  tone  and  frequency  as  the 
mist  became  thicker  and  more  chilling. 

''  I've  never  seen  such  a  fog  since  I've  been 
on  the  Atlantic,"  remarked  the  Norwegian 
captain,  as  he  gazed  [ominously  around.  "  It 
is  a  bad  sign,  especially  at  this  season  of  the 
year." 

The  passengers  Avere  all  grouped  about  the 
deck  when  this  remark  was  made.  It  had  the 
effect  of  putting  a  sudden  check  to  their  laugh- 
ing chats  and  each  looked  at  the  other  in  un- 
feigned apprehensiveness. 

''Yes,"  continued  the  speaker,  "a  ship  rarely 
reaches  port  under  such  circumstances.  I've 
been  navigating  the  seas  for  forty  years,  and 
knovv  what  Fam  talking  about." 

He  then  proceeded  to  narrate  innumerable 
yarns  to  prove  his  assertion  and  recited  dismal 
passages  from  ''The  Ancient  Mariner."     There 


94  ROMANCES    OF    NEW    ORLEANS. 

was  not  a  soul  who  felt  comfortable  when  he 
concluded.  Even  jolly  Capt.  Ramie,  though 
he  kept  on  boasting  of  the  immunity  of  his  ship 
from  peril,  looked  ill  at  ease  and  paced  the  deck 
with  nervous  foot-falls. 

Miss  Arcos  and  Harold  remained  outside  for 
a  long  time  after  the  other  passengers  had  re- 
tired, listening  to  the  swashing  of  the  waves  and 
the  groaning  of  the  ponderous  machinery. 

It  was  long  after  midnight  when  the  lovers 
separated. 


CHAPTER  III. 

About  half  an  hour  after  retiring  to  his 
cabin,  Harold  awoke  with  a  start  and  looked 
wildly  about.  Everything  was  tranquil  and  he 
turned  over  to  resume  his  sleep.  But  this  was 
impossible.  Ever}'  moment  he  would  be  star- 
tled by  some  noise  or  other  and  would  sit  up- 
right in  bed,  fancying  that  the  sea  was  already 
swirling  into  his  stateroom.  Midnight  tolled. 
He  softly  arose,  lit  a  match,  and  cautiously 
opened  the  door.  All  was  quiet,  He  crept 
^^nto  bed,  but  could  not  sleep.  At  last,  despair- 
ing of  mastering  his  fears,  he  noiselessly  slipped 


LULETTi:.  [)0 

out  of  the  cabin  and  sought  the  sitting-room. 
It  was  deserted,  but  a  cheery  blaze  flickered  in 
the  stove.  He  lit  a  cigar  and  sat  beside  the 
fire,  smoking  and  dozing  alternately. 

*' Crash!" 

The  huge  ship  quivered  from  bow  to  stern 
and  Harold  felt  himself  thrown  to  the  floor, 
stunned,  surprised,  bewildered. 

^*Crash!     C-r-a-s-h  !" 

A  succession  of  terrific  shakings,  followed 
by  the  hissing  of  steam,  the  sounding  of  bells 
and  gongs,  and  the  shrill  notes  of  the  whistle 
of  distress.  The  passengers  rushed  out  of 
their  staterooms  and  the  scene  became  a  verita- 
ble pandemonium.  Men  and  women  screamed 
and  fought  madly  for  the  right  of  way;  chil- 
dren wailed  and  were  trampled  unmercifully, 
smothered  to  death  by  the  very  ones  from 
whom  they  sought  succor. 

Captain  Ramie  did  superhuman  efforts  to 
quell  the  deadly  stampede. 

"Stop,  you  fools!"  he  yelled.  ''There's 
not  the  slightest  clanger.  We  only  struck  a 
small  chunk  of  ice." 

But  his  words  were  unheeded.  He  might 
just  as  well  have  tried  to  stop  the  inflow  of  the 


96  ROMANCES    OF    NEW    ORLEANS. 

icy  waters,  which  were  rapidly  <;aining  the 
mastery. 

-Flash:" 

The  lurid  sionals  of  distress  illumed  the  dark- 
ness  for  a  few  seconds,  tinging  the  overhanging 
clouds  a  dull  red,  death-boding  hue. 

•'  Boom  1   Boom?'" 

The  cannons  shrieked  out  their  thunderous 
affright,  blending  their  noise  with  the  groans  of 
the  maddened  mass  of  humanity,  which  strug- 
gled and  squirmed  about,  hardly  knowing  what 
they  w^ere  doing. 

"  Hue-r-r-r-r-r  !   Rowr-r-r-r-r  ru-r-r-r  !" 

The  awful  notes  of  the  whistle  of  distress 
stilled  the  beatings  of  the  quavering  hearts.  But 
it  finally  died  out.  The  waters  rushed  in  and 
extinguihhed  the  fires:  men  and  women  fought 
no  more,  but  stood  as  if  paralyzed,  awaiting 
their  doom. 

"  I've  been  navio-atin^-  the  seas  foii  forty 
vears,'*  Harold  heard  a  feeble  voice  gasp.  "  I 
knew  what  I  was  talking  about.'' 

Just  then  the  vessel  gave  a  lurch,  oscillating 
like  a  boulder  about  to  crash  into  an  untathomed 
precipice,  and  the  merciless  waters  swirled 
about  her.      She   stood   still  for  a  few  seconds, 


LUI.ETTE.  97 

then  plunged  beneath  the  surface,  carrying  in 
her  wake  the  screaming  mass,  which  despair- 
ingly clung  to  the  creaking  timbers,  imploring 
in  vain  to  be  saved. 

Harold  felt  himself  going  down,  down,  down 
with  frightful  velocity;  then  he  suddenly 
stopped  and  was  shot  toward  the  surface.  He 
deliriously  grasped  at  a  floating  piece  of  furni- 
ture, and  — 

"  I  say,  young  gentleman,  if  you  are  not  more 
careful,  you'll  overturn  that  stove." 

Harold  glanced  up  and  met  the  amused  gaze 
of  Capt.  Ramie. 

"  Where's  Mirelle — tell  me,  quick — was  she 
also  saved?"  he  gasped. 

The  old  tar  looked  dubiously  at  the  agitated 
young  man  and  made  a  dash  for  the  sideboard. 

'*  Here,''  said  he,  pulling  out  a  bottle  and 
pouring  some  liquor  into  a  glass.  "  Drink  this 
and  you'll  feel  all  right.  It  always  demoralizes 
a  man  to  make  love  on  a  cloudy  night." 

Harold  mechanically  swallowed  the  beverage, 
rubbed  his  eyes  and  looked  dazedly  about.  A 
bright  fire  burned  in  the  stove;  at  his  feet  was 
a  half  consumed  cigar.  The  vibrations  of  the 
ship's  machinery  kept  on  with  the  self-same 
7 


98  ROMANCES    OI'    NF\V    ORLEANS. 

monotony.  The  shipwreck  was  only  a  dream  ! 
He  had  fallen  asleep  haunted  b\'  the  terrors  of 
the  sea,  and  his  imagination  liad  evolved  this 
fantastic  nicrhtmare. 

The  ship  reached  New  York  in  due  time. 
Harold  and  his  fair  protege  then  took  passage 
on  a  steamship  for  New  Orleans,  which  place 
they  reached  without  anything  unusual  happen- 
ing. Having  been  informed  of  his  friend's 
coming,  Knouril  was  waiting  for  him  at  the 
wharf.  He  insisted  on  introducino-  the  vouno- 
man  at  once  to  his  adored  Lulette.  Remon- 
strances were  useless,  and,  in  less  than  half  an 
hour  after  his  arrival,  Harold  found  himself  in 
the  presence  of  Knouril' s  ideal,  whose  beauty 
and  sweetness  he  found  had  not  been  exagger- 
ated by  his  friend. 

It  was  only  when  the  partners  were  once 
more  alone  that  Harold  thought  of  John's  father 
and  asked  about  him. 

"Why.  didn't  I  explain  ever\^thing  to  you?" 
queried  Knouril. 

"  Certainly  not.  You  raved  about  Miss  Lu- 
lette— everything  else  was  a  blank." 

Knouril  burst  into  a  heartv  laujiii. 

••  It  was  onlv    a    scheme  to  make   me   come 


T.ULETTE. 


99 


back/*  he  exclained.  "Father  was  at  the 
theatre  the  night  of  my  arrival.  He  treated  the 
whole  thing  as  a  practical  joke— and  here  the 
matter  rests.** 

Harold  gave  his  friend  a  heartfelt  handshake 
and  the  pair  separated. 

A  week  afterward  Lulette  and  John  were 
married.  Harold  was  best  man,  Mirelle  his 
blushing  companion.  That  same  night,  when 
he  escorted  her  home,  he  obtained  her  promise 
that  the  next  wedding  at  the  old  St.  Louis 
Cathedral  would  be  theirs. 

In  May,  1882,  Harold  and  his  bride  left  New 
Orleans  for  India,  which  they  decided  to  make 
their  future  home.  Lulette  feeling  saddened 
at  the  thought  of  leaving  her  native  land, 
Knouril  abandoned  his  idea  of  returning  to 
Calcutta  and  left  his  partner  in  full  charge  of 
the  business  of  Knouril  &  Co. 

And,  following  the  diction  of  the  dear  old 
fairy  tales  which  delighted  us  in  our  youths, 
may  the  lovers  live  in  happiness  to  the  end  of 
their  lives.  

THE  END. 


IRRECONCILABLE. 


RRECONCILABLE. 


"O,  why  should  the  spirit  ot  mortal  lie  proiul? 
Like  a  swift-tleeting  meteor,  fast-flying  cloud, 
A  flash  of  the  lightning,  a  break  ot  the  wave, 
.Man  passes  Irom  life  to  his  rest  in  the  grave. "--/I'wo.r, 


Some  sections  of  the  French  quarter  of  New 
Orleans  have  of  Lite  undergone  noticeable 
changes.  Damp,  ivy-twined  dwellings,  built 
during  the  Spanish  domination  of  Louisiana, 
have  been  demolished  and  handsome  stores  and 
cottages  erected  in  their  stead. 

Many  will  recall  a  certain  quaint,  stately  edi- 
fice on  Royal  street,  a  few  squares  from 
Esplanade  avenue,  which  not  long  ago  occu- 
pied the  site  where  a  vast  dry  goods  establish- 
ment now  stands.  The  process  of  demolition 
was  commenced  about  a  year  ago  and  now,  as 
one  admires  the  elegant  building  which  has  so 
rapidly  replaced  its  predecessor,  the  sudden 
change  is  always  a  subject  of  wonder  to  him. 

A  few  months  after  the  workmen  had  begun 


104         ROMANCES  OF  NEW  ORLEANS. 

razing  the  old  building,  a  secret  cabinet  was 
discovered,  in  which  were  several  chairs,  a 
lounge  and  two  old-fashioned  book-cases. 
Everything  was  deeply  covered  with  dust,  and 
when  the  mouldy  rags  scattered  over  the  lounge 
were  removed,  a  skeleton  rattled  to  the  floor. 
A  rusty  pistol,  with  one  chamber  empty,  was 
found  near  by.  The  newspapers,  too  busy 
with  the  bitter  political  fight  then  raging, 
treated  the  matter  lightly,  merely  mentioning 
the  strange  find  in  their  local  columns.  The 
bones  were  taken  in  charge  by  the  coroner  and 
buried  in  Potter's  Field. 

The  writer  not  long  since  had  occasion  to 
transact  some  business  with  the  contractor  who 
erected  the  modern  building — a  well-known 
Creole  gentleman — and  was  told  of  tlie  unearth- 
ing of  the  skeleton. 

"  I  always  wondered  why  the  press  did  not 
make  a  big  sensation  out  of  this,"  observed  the 
narrator.  "  I  could  have  furnished  them 
startling  details,  father  having  told  me  the 
strange  story  connected  with  this  old  house. 
Many  old-timers  still  recall  the  crazed  father's 
irrevocable  vow  and  his  unexplained  disappear- 
ance," 


IRRECONCILABLE.  10'^ 

When  pressed  for  a  full  recital,  he  laughingly 

said: 

"My  dear  boy,  I'm   too   busy.     Come  and 
take  breakfast  with  me  Sunday  and  I'll  unbosom 

myself."  .     . 

He  kept  his  word  and  furnished  the  basis  lor 
this   touching   romance,    which   is   given    with 

faithful  adherence  to  reality. 

*  *  *  *  *.         *         * 

About  half  a  century  before  the  present  gen- 
eration was  born,  there  lived  in  that  historic 
Royal  street  residence  a  family  by  the  name  of 
Mizaine,  consisting  of  father,  mother,  daughter- 
and  a  spinster  relative. 

Major  Hamilcar  Mizaine  was  a  survivor  of  the 
Battle  of  New  Orleans,  where  his  gallantry  had 
cost  him  an  arm.  Having  amassed  a  fortune 
on  his  sugar  plantation  in  St.  Charles  parish,  he 
had  disposed  of  it  at  a  handsome  profit  and 
moved  to    his  native  place,  to  live  in  ease  and 

elegance. 

To  those  whom  he  liked,  the  Major  was  a 
valued  friend,  but  his  sensitive  nature  resented 
the  slightest  affront.  As  an  illustration  of  his 
unforgiving  disposition,  the  following   .nc.dent 

is  related  : 

When  attending  college,  one  of   his    profes- 


10(3         ROMANCES  OF  NEW  ORLEANS. 

sors,  vexed  bv  some  insolent  remark,  boxed  his 
ears. 

"  I  am  only  sixteen  and  powerless,*'  warned 
the  furious  boy,  "  but  when  I  become  a  man,  J 
will  make  you  regret  your  cowardice." 

Every  one  laughed  heartil}^  at  this  bravado, 
but  the  youth  resolutely  carried  out  his  threat. 
On  the  anniversary  of  his  twenty-first  birthday, 
he  sought  the  professor,  then  still  in  the  prime 
of  life,  and  publicly  slapped  his  face.  x\  duel 
followed,  in  which  Mizaine  sent  a  bullet  through 
his  adversary's  heart. 

The  Major's  wife,  whose  maiden  name  was 
Pauline  Oursblanc,  was  one  of  those  cold,  in- 
different, unapproachable  characters  fortunate- 
ly so  rare  among  the  descendants  of  the  Franco- 
Latin  race.  She  was  too  indolent  to  look  after 
her  sole  child,  .sweet,  timid  Juanita,  and  had 
left  her  in  the  entire  care  of  her  sister-in-law, 
Cecile,  who  liad  proved  a  real  motlier  to  the 
girl. 

Amid  such  surroundings,  it  was  ncjt  surpris- 
ing that  Juanita  did  not  feel  for  lier  parents 
those  tender  sentiments  of  love  and  respect 
which  kindness  fosters  in  an  immature  breast. 
Her  father  frowned   upon  her    childisli   demon-. 


IKKKCONCILABLE.  107 

strations  of  joy;  her  mother  never  kissed  her 
babbling  lips  or  tenderly  spoke  to  her.  "Aunt 
Cecile"  was  the  only  one  in  that  dismal  house- 
hold who  seemed  to  love  her,  and  to  her  the 
child  coniided  all  lier  joys  and  sorrows. 

Cecile  had  given  her  niece  the  best  precep- 
tors, and  at  fifteen  she  was  more  learned  than 
the  average  girl  of  the  period — for  at  that  time 
the  education  of  women  was  considered  unim- 
portant— and  gave  indications  of  soon  blooming 
into  a  beautiful  creature.  She  was  one  of  those 
delightful  caprices  of  nature,  a  blonde  Creole, 
and  her  pretty  face  was  the  envy  of  her  school- 
mates and  the  pride  of  her  aunt. 

In  those  days  it  was  customary  to  marry 
young,  and  Mme.  Mizaine  suddenly  discovered 
she  had  a  daughter  old  enough  to  think  of  beaux. 
So  she  nonchalantly  remarked  one  day  during 
breakfast: 

*'It  is  time  you  should  think  of  marrying, 
Juanita." 

Startled  by  the  suddenness  of  the  question, 
the  young  girl  opened  her  blue  eyes  to  their 
fullest  capacity. 

"Marrying?"  she  repeated,  in  surprised  tones, 
"Whv,  I  never  loved  anv  one!" 


108  ROMANCES    OF    XEW    ORLEANS. 

''Love  is  nonsensical,  child,'"  was  the  lym- 
phatic response.  "Had  I  married  for  love,  I 
would  be  an  old  maid  to-day.'' 

The  Major  looked  up  amusedly  at  this  frank 
admission,  but  said  nothing.  Mme.  Mizaine 
continued: 

"I  will  give  a  soiree  in  a  few  months  to  in- 
troduce 3'ou  to  societ}'.  In  the  meanwhile,  Ce- 
cile  will  instruct  you  how  to  behave  in  com- 
pany.'" 

Juanita  looked  apprehensively  at  her  mother, 
afraid  to  make  any  observation,  and  the  meal 
was  finished  in  silence. 

On  her  sixteenth  birthday,  Juanita  made  her 
initial  bow  to  society.  She  had  winning  man- 
ners, was  an  excellent  pianist,  and  conquered 
many  hearts  that  eventful  night.  But  her  sweet- 
est smiles  and  most  coquettish  looks  were  be- 
stowed upon  Senville  Faibus,  a  rich,  handsome 
3'oung  fellow,  who  was  considered  a  splendid 
"catch"  by  scheming  mothers.  Mme.  Mizaine 
smiled  encouragingly,  for  in  her  eyes  Senville 
was  a  desirable  suitor  and  would  undoubtedly 
make  a  pliant  son-in-law.  As  for  the  Major,  he 
cordialh'  toasted  the  young  man  at  supper  and 
invited  him   to  call   as  often   as  he   desired — a 


IRRECONCILABLE.  109 

departure  from  his  usual  surliness  which  elicited 
general  wondering  comment. 

As  the  weeks  went  by,  Senville  became 
bolder  and  more  demonstrative  in  his  attentions, 
completely  routing  his  numerous  rivals.  One 
evening,  when  he  had  been  unusually  tender 
and  had  departed  with  unconcealed  reluctance, 
Mizaine  patted  Jiianita's  blonde  curls  and 
pleasantly  said  : 

"This  is  splendid,  m}^  child!  I  am  really 
proud  of  you ! 

Juanita  looked  up  in  speecliless  amazement. 
Ever  since  she  was  a  child,  slie  could  not  rec- 
ollect such  a  warm  proof  of  paternal  love. 

"Yes,"  continued  the  Major,  "lam  delighted 
with  you.  Flirt  as  much  as  3^ou  please,  but  do 
not  go  too  far." 

"What  do  you  mean,  father?"  said  the  be- 
wildered girl,  made  uneasy  by  liis  caressing 
touch. 

"I  mean  that  Senville  can  be  your  to\'  as 
long  as  you  please,  but  your  husband — never." 

"Father!  I  thought  ^^ou  liked  him  so 
much?" 

"He  is  a  pleasant  young  fellow,  but  you  are 
too  young  to  love  sincerely.     You  will  change 


110  Pv0^rANCES  of  new  ori.eaxs. 

3^our  mind  and  make  him  suffer.  I  watched 
him  closely  to-night  and  I  know  he  will  adore 
you  forever.*' 

Juanita  cast  down  her  eves.  What  could  all 
tliis  mean?     He  was  surely  jesting. 

*'But  father/'  she  ventured,  timidly,  '-I  do 
not  understand  why  you  do  not  want  us  to 
marr}'.  I  am  old  enough  to  love  truly  and  I 
ieel  I  can  never  forget  Senville.'' 

The  Major's  features  grew  sombre. 

"I  tell  you  this  is  all  nonsense,"  he  said. 
"Make  him  craz3\  drive  him  wild,  but  bear  in 
mind  that  3'ou  can  never  marr\'  him." 

•'But  I  do  love  him  dearly,  father.  Ho^v 
can — "" 

"Love  has  no  existence  at  your  age.  You 
may  suffer  a  little,  but  3'ou  will  forget  and  be 
happier  later." 

In  vain  Juanita  pleaded — Mizaine  w^as  inex- 
orable. Exasperated  In-  the  girl's  earnestness, 
he  finalh-  said  : 

"Enough  of  this  nonsense.  If  you  disobe3^ 
me,  may  m3'  eternal  curse  rest  on  3'ou,  your 
husband,  your  children  and  ever3'thing  dear  to 
you.'" 

He     walked    awa3'    in     a    towering    passion. 


IKKKC'ONLILAP.I.K.  Ill 

Juanita  disconsolately  sought  lier  aunt  and  told 
her  all,  The  good  soul  consoled  her  and  ex- 
plained what  slie  thought  prompted  her  brother 
to  hate  Senville. 

'•Senville's  father  and  Hamilcar  were  class- 
mates and  inseparable  friends,'"  she  began,  ten- 
derly kissing  the  tear-wet  cheeks.  "When 
your  father  was  twenty-two,  he  fell  desperately 
in  love  with  Essie  Rurtel,  a  beautiful  Amer- 
ican girl.  She  accepted  him  and  everything 
was  in  preparation  for  the  wedding,  when  she 
ran  away  with  voungf  Faibus.  Hamilcar  .was 
frantic  with  grief  and  rage  and  vowed  revenge. 
Everybody  expected  a  duel  to  the  death,  as 
both  men  were  brave  and  reckless,  but  vour 
father  did  not  seek  a  hostile  meeting.  Soon 
after,  he  married  Pauline  and  his  wound  was 
thought  to  be  healed.  Do  3'ou  now  understand, 
my  child?" 

Juanita  arose,  her  bosom  heaving  with    emo 
tion. 

"Yes,  I  now  see  it  all,'"  she  said  indignantly. 
'•Father  thought  I  would  jilt  Senville.  thus  pun- 
ishing him  for  his  mother's  falsity.  But  I  will 
do  no  sucii  thing.  He  has  never  shown  a  fa- 
ther's solicitude  for  me  and  I  defy  his  curse. 
I  vjill  marrv  Senville."* 


112  ROMANCES    OF    NEW    ORLEANS. 

''Juanita!"  exclaimed  Cecile,  alarmed  at  her 
impetuous  words. 

The  poor  girl  threw  her  arms  around  her  neck 
and  kissed  the  withered  cheeks. 

"Dear,    sweet,    darling    aunt,"   she    sobbed, 
•'you  are  the  only  one  who  really  cares  for  me." 
***** 

A  few  nights  after  the  above  conversation 
took  place,  Senville  found  Juanita  alone  in  the 
garden,  and  confessed  his  love.  She  t^remu- 
lously  told  him  of  her  father's  terrible  words. 
Senville  was  dazed. 

''God  is  too  just  to  hearken  to  such  vows," 
he  said.  "If  you  love  me,  we  will  be  happy. 
But  I  do  not  ask  you  to  disobey  your  father  if 
your  heart  dictates  otherwise." 

She  circled  her  arms  around  his  neck. 

"Yes.  God  is  too  good  to  blame  us,"  she 
said,  simpl^^  "I  love  you  and  nothing  can 
tempt  me  to  make  you  feel  unhappy." 

He  kissed  her  quivering  lips  and  her  anguished 
heart  was  solaced. 

***** 

The  elopement  of  Juanita  Mizaine  and  Sen- 
ville Faibus  created  quite  a  stir  in  social  cir- 
cles.    Senville's  parents  could  give  no  explana 


IRKECOXCILARLE.  113 

tion  to  tlie  iniuimt'rable  questions  propounded 
to  them  and  looked  upon  the  affair  as  "a  ro- 
mantic escapade  of  two  young  fools."  To 
those  bold  enough  to  question  the  Major,  he 
invariably  replied : 

**My  daughter  is  dead  and  buried.  I  do  not 
care  to  discuss  the  subject." 

Two  years  after  their  elopement,  the  young 
people  returned  to  New  Orleans,  bringing  a 
little  stranger  with  them — called  by  the  sweet 
name  of  Micaela — whose  fair  face  was  so  much 
like  Juanita's  that  she  needed  no  formal  .intro- 
duction to  establish  her  relationship  to  that 
happy  young  woman. 

Juanita  tried  to  communicate  with  her  par- 
ents, asking  their  forgiveness,  but  her  ad- 
vances were  repulsed.  Cecile  was  dead,  thus 
depriving  the  girl  of  the  only  relative  who 
would  have  welcomed  her. 

For  three  years  the  young  people  were  very 
happ}'.  Then  came  a  sudden  change.  The 
bank  in  which  was  deposited  the  fortune  of  the 
Faibus  family — an  institution  which  had  with- 
stood financial  crashes  for  nearly  a  century — 
collapsed,  leaving  Senville  penniless.  It  was 
then    he    felt  the   glamour  of  money.      Former 


114  ROMANXES    OF    NEW    ORLEANS. 

friends,  who  fawned  around  him  when  fortune's 
star  was  in  its  zenith,  now  greeted  him  with 
coldness  and  arrogance,  and  refused  assistance. 
To  support  his  wife  and  child,  he  was  compell- 
ed to  work  w^ith  common  laborers  on  the  river 
front;  but  this  proved  too  arduous  for  him  and 
he  soon  sickened  and  died.  For  her  child's 
sake,  Juanita  wrote  a  suppliant  letter  to  her 
father.     She  received  the  following  answer: 

**  You  are  an  impostor.  My  only  daughter 
is  dead." 

The  young  widow  then  found  employment  in 
a  manufacturing  establishment.  One  day,  sun- 
dry articles  were  missed,  and,  being  the  poorest 
employe,  suspicion  naturally  rested  upon  her 
and  she  was  discharged. 

*'  You  may  thank  your  stars  we  do  not  send 
you  to  jail,"  said  the  superintendent,  sternly. 
"  The  balance  we  owe  vou  is  insicrnificant  to 
cover  your  thefts,  but  we  will  be  lenient  and 
gii'C  3^ou  a  chance  to  reform." 

Poor  Juanita  !  Her  baby — now  a  prattling, 
intelligent  child  of  six — had  been  feverish  all 
night  and  she  was  waiting  for  her  week's  wages 
to  buy  some  medecine  and  toothsome  tid-bits. 
With  a  despairing  heart  she  souf^ht  her  wretched 


IRRECONCILABLE.  Ho 

home.     Micaela's    face    became    radiant    when 
she  saw  her  mother. 

"  I  thought  you  would  never  come,  mamma," 
she  said,  caressing  the  pallid  cheeks.  "  I'm 
so  hungry." 

Juanita  passionately  kissed  the  bright  eyes. 

"  And  what  delicacy  does  my  precious  want 
to-night?"  she  said,  laughing  boisterously  to 
conceal  her  agitation. 

Micaela  was  pensive  a  few  moments. 

"  I  feel  so  much  Hke  eating  nic-nacs  and 
milk,"  she  observed  longingly.  "That  good 
colored  woman  next  door  gave  me  some  this 
morning  and  it  did  me  such  a  heap  of  good." 

Juanita  fumbled  in  her  purse  and  found — five 
cents!  Aye,  even  this  simple  luxury  was  de- 
nied the  little  sufferer.  A  desperate  resolve 
overmastered  her  pride. 

"I  can  not  allow  my  baby  to  die,"  she  thought; 
"I  will  seek  father  and  compel  him  to  take  care 
of  her.  He  may  have  no  compassion  for  me, 
but  he  must  save  this  innocent  life." 

The  air  being  cool  and  the  weather  drizzly, 
she  wrapped  a  shawl  around  the  little  fevered 
form  and  tottered  out  of  the  room. 

A  grand  ball  was   in  progress  in  the  spacious 


116  ROMANCES    OI^    XE\V    OnLllAXS. 

Mizaine  parlors.  The  Major  had  just  been 
elected  to  Congress  and  was  honoring  his  con- 
stituents. As  he  passed  through  the  hallway 
the  door  leading  into  the  street  cautiously  opened 
and  an  anxious,  frightened  face  peeped  in. 

'*What  the  mischief  do  you  want?"  he 
gruffly  queried,  opening  the  door. 

But  he  started,  for  an  appealing  face  was 
raised  to  him  and  a  choking  voice  faltered: 

'*Have  mercy,  father  !  Your  grandchild  is 
dying.     Abuse  me,  but  save  her  life." 

The  old  man  turned  as  pale  as  a  corpse.  In 
spite  of  her  faded  dress  and  emaciated  features, 
he  had  recognized  his  daughter  I  For  a  few^ 
moments  he  gazed  vacantly  at  her,  unable  to 
speak.  Then  memories  of  the  past  surged 
through  his  brain,  and  he  recalled  his  fateful 
vow.  Recovering  his  wonted  calmness,  he 
coldly   said: 

"  You  have  come  to  the  wrong  house,  madam. 
My  only  child  died  seven  years  ago." 

He  slammed  the  door  in  her  face  and  joined 
the  impatient  revelers.  That  same  night  he 
disappeared  and  was  never  heard  of  again. 

The  next  morning  an  unconscious  woman, 
tightly  clasping  the  dead  bodv  of  a  child,  was 


IRRECONCILABLE.  H' 

found  by  the  police  in  a  doorway  on  Royal  street, 
a  few  doors  from  Major  Mazaine's  residence. 
The  unfortunate  creature  was  taken  to  the 
Charity  Hospital,  where  kind  hands  ministered  to 
her,  but  aid  had  come  too  late  and  she  died 
before  sunset.  No  one  identifying  her,  she  was 
buried  by  the  city. 


* 


The  discovery  of  a  skeleton  in  the  old  Span- 
ish building  clears  away  the  mystery  surround- 
ing Major  Mizaine's  disappearance.  Gnawed 
by  remorse,  he  had  sought  this  secret  spot  and 
put  an  end  to  his  misdirected  life.  This  theory 
is  rendered  irrefutable  by  the  finding  of  an  un- 
loaded pistol  near  the  ancient  lounge. 

May  God  have  mercy  on  the  poor  bones  lying 
uncared  for  in  a  pauper's  grave ! 


THE    END. 


THE 

CREOLE  FLOWER  GIRL 


THE  CREOLE  FLOWER  GIRL 


CHAPTER  I. 

At  the  beginning  of  this  century,  in  the  neigh- 
borhood of  that  world-famed  rehc  of  colonial 
New  Orleansahe  French  Market,  there  used  to 
be  an  attractive  flower  shop,  presided  over  by  a 
bright-eyed  little  brunette.  She  was  a  charm- 
ing beauty,  full  of  wit  and  tact,  and  did  a 
thriving  business.  Although  very  amiable  and 
talkative,  she  was  mysteriously  reserved  about 
her  personaHty,  no  one  knowing  her  real  name 
or  antecedents.  To  those  indiscreet  enough  to 
question  her,  she  gave  evasive  answers,  and  no 
amount  of  coaxing  could  induce  her  to  become 
confidential. 

Ernest  Fatah  was  her  best  and  most  assiduous 
customer.  His  heart  had  been  stolen  since  the 
day  those  delicate  fingers  pinned  a  boutonniere 
for  him,  but  his  advances  having  been  coldly 
received,  he  consoled  himself  with  the  thought 
that  he  could  at  least  see  her  every  morning. 


122  ROMANXES    OK    NEW    ORLEANS. 

Young  Fatah  was  a  reporter  on  the  only 
newspaper  then  existing  in  New  Orleans — Lc 
Coiirrier  de  la  Louisiane.  He  was  a  popular 
sketch-writer  and  versifier,  most  of  his  work 
appearing  in  the  Courrier. 

One  morning,  he  met  his  ideal  as  she  was 
coming  out  of  the  St.  Louis  Cathedral,  and 
smilingly  approached  her. 

**Do  you  object  to  my  company  as  far  as 
your  residence,"  he  said. 

"Oh,  I  am  not  bound  for  home,"  was  the 
disappointing  response.  "  I  am  simply  going 
to  visit  a  sick  friend.  You  may  walk  w^ith  me 
as  far  as  her  door,  if  you  wish." 

Ernest's  beaming  features  showed  the  three 
last  words  to  be  surplusage. 

*' You  are  a  mystery  to  me  Mademoiselle," 
he  said,  a  puzzled  expression  on  his  handsome 
face.  "  Once  I  asked  you  to  tell  me  a  little  of 
your  life  and  you  seemed  unaccountably  dis- 
pleased. Wh}^  are  you  so  unkind?  You  know 
it  is  not  a  spirit  of  curiosity  which  prompts  me 
to—" 

**  Please  do  not  begin  again,  I  entreat  3^ou," 
interrupted  the  girl,  '•  I  know  you  are  an 
honorable  gentleman  and  I  admire  your  discre- 


THE    CREOLE    FLOWER    GIRL.  123 

tion,  but  I  can  not  tell  you  more  than  you 
already  know.  It  is  useless  to  plead  Mr.  Fatah." 

The  young  man  gave  a  start  of  surprise. 

"  Why,  do  you  know  my  name?"  he  said. 

The  young  girl  looked  confused,  but  frankly 
replied: 

"You  will  pardon  my  curiosity,  but  you 
seemed  such  a  quiet  gentleman  and  took  my 
refusal  to  receive  you  at  my  house  so  philo- 
sophically, that  I  made  it  a  point  to  ascertain 
your  name.  It  is  a  habit  I  have  to  know  who 
my  regular  customers  are." 

Ernest  glanced  at  her,  but  she  averted  his 
gaze. 

"As  you  know  my  name,"  he  convincingly 
said,  "would  you  deem  it  bold  if  I  asked 
\'Ours?" 

"Not  at  all,  sir,"  was  the  quick  reply.  "  I 

am    Mayoutte,    the  Creole    Flower    Girl.  I 

thought  you  knew  it.  Everybody  calls  me 
thus." 

There  was  such  an  innocent  look  in  her 
lustrous  eyes,  Ernest's  rising  displeasure  was 
dispelled. 

"  I  know  your  g-iven  name,"   he  said,  softly; 


124        ROMANCES  Op-  NEW  ORLEANS. 

''  but  you  surely  have  another — a  family  name, 
miss." 

''  Perhaps  I  once  did,  but  I  do  not  recall  it." 

"You  are  jesting.  One  can  see  by  your 
conversation  and  manners  that  you  are  not 
plebeian.     Your  answer  is  incomprehensible." 

'*  There  are  stranger  things  in  this  world, 
Mr.  Fatah.  Were  you  to  know  my  past  life 
you  would  wonder  how  I  could  apparently  be 
so  volatile  and  gay.  One  day  I  migiit  tell  you. 
For  the  present,  I  rely  on  your  honor  not  to 
question  me.  We  must  now  part,  as  I  have 
reached  my  destination.     Au  revoir,  sir." 

Ernest  walked  regretfully  away,  more  de- 
termined than  ever  to  know  the  true  history  of 
this  mysterious  girl.  The  next  morning  as  he 
stopped  for  his  customary  bouquet,  Mayoutte 
seemed  less  gay  than  usual. 

"  What  has  happened  to  the  queen  of  flow- 
ers," he  observed  pleasantl3^ 

Mayoutte  pointed  to  the  clouded  sky. 

"  The  sun  has  not  given  her  its  morning 
kiss,"  she  said  laughingly.  Then,  looking 
graver:  "You  must  not  mind  me,  Mr.  Fatah. 
Once  in  a  while  thoughts  of  the  past  trouble  me 
and  I  grow  despondent.  To-morrow  you  will 
find  me  as  of  old." 


THE    CREOLE    FLOWER    GIRL.  125 

"  If  it  was  not  a  forbidden  subject,"  said 
Ernest,  hesitatingly,  "  I  would  ask  a  few  ques- 
tions." 

Mayoutte  glanced  into  his  love-lit  eyes,  but 
instantly  averted  them. 

"  Do  not  look  at  me  that  way,"  she  said  ner- 
vously. 

Ernest  feifjned  to  be  vexed. 

"If  even  m}^  looks  are  hateful  to  you,"  be 
stiffly  said,  "it  would  be  more  chivalrous  to 
leave  you  alone,  I  trust  you  will  pardon  my 
intrusion,  Miss." 

He  bowed  and  walked  toward  the  door.  His 
ruse  was  successful,  for  a  detaining  hand  was 
placed  on  his  arm: 

"  Do  not  be  angry,  Mr.  Fatah,"  was  the 
gentle  remark.  "  I  did  not  mean  to  offend  you. 
You  have  been  too  kind  to  be  treated  with  in- 
gratitude." 

Ernest  saw  his  advantage  and  persuasively 
said : 

"  Be  more  friendly,  cruel  girl.  Your  bright 
eyes  have  surely  read  my  heart's  secret." 

"  Do  not  talk  that  way,"  said  Mayoutte,  ap- 
prehensively.     "  We  might  be  overheard." 


l26         ROMANCES  OF  NEW  ORLEANS. 

'*  Impossible."  cautioned  Ernest.  "This 
little  corner  is  too  removed  from  the  street." 

•'  It  is  best  to  be  prudent.  When  we  are  cer- 
tain not  to  be  overheard,  I  will  speak  fear- 
lessly." 

Ernest's  heart  gave  a  bound. 

*'  This  ma}*  never  happen,  unless  —  " 

He  stopped,  and  their  eyes  met  again. 

"  I  will  do  as  you  wish,  Mr.  Fatah,"  said 
Mayoutte,  lowly.  "  I  do  not  know  how^  it  is, 
but  I  feel  so  strange  when  you  look  at  me  that 
w^ay.  I — I  do  not  like  it.  If  I  allow  you  to 
visit  me,  will  3'ou  promise  on  your  honor 
never  to  speak  of  love  to  me,  unless  I  tell  you 
to?" 

Ernest  looked  perplexedly  at  her. 

"  Do  you  refuse?     It  is  the  only  alternative." 

She  spoke  firmly,  but  her  voice  quavered  a 
little.  Concealing  his  almost  uncontrollable  hap- 
piness, for  the  girl's  heart-thoughts  were  mir- 
rored in  her  reproachful  eyes,  Ernest  indiffer- 
ently said: 

"I  agree  to  respect  your  wishes.  Miss  May- 
outte. When  may  I  call?  Would  this  evening- 
be  too  soon?" 


tHE    CREOLE    FLOWER    GIRL.  127 

Mayoutte  hesitated  and  then  hastily  scrib- 
bled on  a  small  slip  of  paper. 

'*Here  is  my  address,"  she  said  uneasily. 
*'Act  as  your  conscience  dictates.  Please  go 
now.    I  am  afraid  people  will  gossip  about  us." 

Ernest  took  the  precious  document  and  de- 
parted. But  he  pondered  for  a  long  time  over 
Mayoutte's  singular  phrase:  ^'Acl  as yotir  con- 
science dictates. ''''  He  felt  he  Igved  her  sincere- 
ly and  would  make  her  his  wife  if  the  story  of 
her  life  proved  her  to  be  as  pure  as  he  imag- 
ined, and  he  wondered  what  she  meant.  The 
mystery  was  becoming  more  bewildering  than 
ever,  and  he  felt  a  pang  at  his  heart  when  he 
thought  how  tediously  long  the  day    would    be. 


CHAPTER  II. 

The  sun's  last  rays  were  tinting  the  sombre 
clouds  as  Ernest  stopped  before  Mayoutte's 
residence  and  softly  raised  the  quaint  iron 
knocker.  The  gate  being  half-opened  and  no 
one  responding  to  his  knock,  he  walked  into 
the  garden-path  which  led  to  the  house  and 
looked    musingly    about.     Roses,  dahlias,  mig- 


128         ROMANCES  OF  NEW  ORLKAXS. 

nonettes  and  bright-colored  tropical  flowers 
bloomed  in  the  open  air,  distilling  a  delicious 
fragrance.  As  he  strolled  toward  the  house, 
the  door  was  suddenly  opened  and  Mayoutte 
appeared  on  the  threshold. 

She  was  indeed  a  lovely  creature.  Of  medi- 
um height,  slender,  w^ith  large  black  eyes  and  a 
magnificent  wealth  of  chestnut  hair,  she  was  well 
calculated  to  excite  admiration  from  the  most 
prosaic.  iVnd  as  Ernest  did  not  even  remotely 
belong  to  this  latter  class,  being  a  poet  and 
dreamer,  his  state  of  mind  can  better  be  imag- 
ined than  described.  Mayoutte  smiled  at  his 
confusion  and  observed : 

"Come  in,  Mr.  Fatah.  You  will  catch  cold 
standing  on  the  damp  soil  so  long.  You  are 
earlier  than  I  expected." 

She  seemed  so  graciousl}"  unconscious  of 
his  embarrassment,  that  Ernest  came  to  his 
senses. 

"I  w^as  admiringyour  pretty  flowers,"  he  said. 
"I  hope  you  will  pardon  my  abstraction." 

He  took  her  proffered  hand  and  they  entered 
the  house. 

Seeing  the  young  girl   was  so    mt-rry.    Ernest 


THE    CREOLE    FLOWER    GIRL.  129 

did  not  broach  the  subject  of  his  visit,  but  em- 
ployed his  time  in  subtle  assaults  upon  her  un- 
defended heart. 

''  I  read  a  very  pretty  poem  by  you  in  the 
C^/^rr/Vr  last  Sunday,"  observed  Mayoutte,  after 
a  pause  in  the  conversation. 

"You  are  verv  charitable,  I  am  sure,"  said 
Ernest.  "I  am  delighted  to  see  I  had  an 
approving  critic." 

*'  Oh,  I  always  read  your  poetry  with  pleas- 
ure. Before  I  knew  you  I  always  looked  for  it 
in  the  Cotirrier  and  was  disappointed  when  you 
slighted  a  number.  How  is  it  you  always  sing 
of  love?" 

"It  is  such  a  sublime — " 

But  Mayoutte's  warning  finger  stopped  him. 

"Take  care,"  she  said,  playfull3^  "Do 
not  venture  too  rashly  on  the  quicksand  of 
poesy." 

"You  are  despotic.  Miss  Mayoutte.  You 
push  me  temptingly  near  the  illusive  goal  and 
then  blame  me  for  falling  in." 

"I  spoke  of  your  poetry,  sir,"  she  scoldingly 
responded. 

"  Are  you  afraid  I  might  become  personal?" 
9 


130  ROMANCES    OF    NEW    ORLEANS. 

*'Yes.  I  know  how  impetuous  you  poets 
are.  Once  started,  an  avalanciie  can  not  stop 
you . ' ' 

"  But  a  woman  will,"  said  Ernest,  teasingl^^ 
*'  In  that  case  your  sex  should  be  more  dreaded 
than — than — I  should  like  to  know  what  you  are 
laughing  at,  Miss?" 

"  I  was  just  thinking  how  courageous  vou 
were,  Mr.  Fatah." 

Ernest  bit  his  lip. 

*' Now  you  are  angry,"  resumed  Mayoutte, 
apologetically.  "  To  atone  for  mv  offence,  I 
will  ask  you  to  write  a  verse  or  two  in  my  al- 
bum. Poetr}'  is  an  infallible  cure  for  rebellious 
thoughts." 

"  Especially  when  it  has  a  congenial  sub- 
ject," ventured  Ernest. 

The}^  sat  around  a  table  and  Ernest  began 
inditing.  Now  and  then  he  would  glance  at 
Mayoutte  for  an  inspiration,  but  she  seemed 
deeply  interested  in  the  texture  of  her  dress  and 
did  not  once  raise  her  eves.  At  last  the  poem 
was  finished  and  he  placed  the  open  book  before 
her. 

"  Read  it  aloud,"  she  said.  *'  It  will  seem 
nicer." 


THE    CREOLE     FLOWER    GIRL.  131 

Ernest  read  as  follow : 

THE  POET  TO  HIS  SWEETHEART. 
When  your  eyes  are  upturned  to  my  face,  hallowed 

love, 
The  bright  worlds   which  glimttier  so  grandly  above 

With  envy  soon  fade: 
When  your  rosy  lips  part,  fondest  phrases  to  tell, 
The  harpists  celestial  their  rhapsodies  quell 
To  listen,  fair  maid. 

You  are  sweet  as  the  rose  by  the  South  wind  caressed 
And  your  throat  is  as  white  as  the  proud  lily's  crest; 

Your  heart  pure  as  snow 
Which  vigilant  guardians  of  Heaven  elude. 
When  beside  me  you  sit  sorrows  dare  not  intrude 

And  woes  blissful  grow. 

l'envoy. 
Rise,  fond  tide  of  my  heart,  to  the  being  I  prize. 
On  the  billows  of  Fate,  like  the  sea  to  the  skies, 

When  she  smiles  to  my  call! 
Hide  thy  pale  rays,  O  Sun!     Jealous   moon  disap- 
pear! . 
Angels,  stay  with  the  stars  when  this  maiden  draws 

near  — 

She  is  fairer  than  all ! 

"  It  is  quite  pretty,"  said  Mayoutte,  "  but  it 
is  only  a  poetical  conceit?  You  do  not  mean 
it?" 

"  Of  course    not,"    ansvveied    Ernest,    deci- 


132  ROMANCES    OF    NEW    ORLEANS. 

sively.  "  I  remember  my  promise  too  well  to 
be  guilty  of  actually  thinking  such  things." 

But  his  looks  said  otherwise,  and  Mayoutte 
became  once  more  furiously  interested  in  that 
tantalizing  dress. 

"  May  I  return  this  book  to  the  mantelpiece?" 
said  Ernest,  taking  this  as  a  pretext  to  make 
her  look  up. 

"  Certainty,"  replied  Mayoutte, without  glanc- 
ing at  him. 

He  walked  briskty  as  far  as  the  chimney  and 
then  came  back  on  tip-toe  and  stood  behind 
Mayoutte.  She  slowly  raised  her  head  to  see 
where  he  was  and  he  noticed  a  tear  trembling  on 
her  lashes.  In  an  instant,  she  w^as  caught  in  his 
arms  and  he  was  tenderly  kissing  her  moistened 
eyes. 

"Oh,  sir,  please  leave  me  go  !  "  she  pleaded, 
struorg-ling  to  free  herself.  "What  will  you  think 
of  me  now  !  " 

"I  love  you,  dearest,"  said  Ernest.  "Tell 
me  you  care  for  me." 

"No,  I  hate  you,"  was  the  sobbing  response. 
"I  thought  you  were  a  gentleman  and  extended 
you  the  hospitality  of  my  home  and  now  you 
insult  me  !     Our  friendship  ends   to-night,  Mr. 


THE    CREOLE    FLOWER    GIRL.  133 

Fatah.      Oh,  how  cou/d  you  take   advantage  of 
a  lone,  unhappy  woman  !  " 

She  cried  as  if  her  heart  would  break  and 
Ernest  be^an  to  fear  she  would  be  overheard. 

'*Donotbe  so  cruel,"  he  gently  remonstrated. 
''I  love  you  and  will  make  you  my  wife.  Say 
you  approve  me,  sweet  girl." 

Mayoutte  dried  her  tears  and  sadly  remarked  : 

"You  have  read  my  heart  and  wish  to  know 
why  I  can  not  requite  your  love.  I  warned  you 
not  to  think  of  me  otherwise  than  as  a  friend, 
but  you  did  not  heed  me.  I  will  tell  you  the 
truth,  Mr.  Fatah.     I  am  married." 

Ernest's  face  became  ashy  and  he  sprang  to 
his  feet. 

''What?"  he  cried,  fiercely. 

But  the  beseeching  eyes  calmed  his  anger 
and  he  resumed  his  seat.  He  hardly  gave 
credence  to  such  an  astonishing  confession. 

"  Mayoutte,"  he  presently  said,  '*  you  are  a 
Modern  Sphinx  to  me.  You  have  an  attractive 
home;  you  are  endowed  with  more  accom- 
phshments  than  the  average  girl  of  the  period, 
yet  you  are  not  happy.  Another  thing  which 
puzzles  me :   Why  do  you  sell  flowers  when  you 


134  ROMANCES    OF    NEW    ORLEANS. 

could  easily  fill  a  more  lucrative  and  exalted 
calling?'' 

"  Why  do  I  sell  flowers?"  repeated  Mayoutte, 
dreamily.  "  I  hardh^  know.  I  like  to  be  in- 
dependent and  I  find  consolation  in  m}^ flowers. 
They  are  never  unkind,  and  I  love  them."  She 
was  lost  in  thouglit  for  awhile.  "  I  was  too 
impulsive  in  judging  you,  Mr.  Fatah,"  she  re- 
suQied.  "  I  am  to  blame.  I  should  never  have 
been  weak  enough  to  make  our  friendship 
stronger.  But  it  is  too  late  now  and  as  I  do  not 
wish  you  to  think  ill  of  me,  I  will  tell  you  the 
story  of  my  life." 

"  That  is  why  I  am  here  to-night,"  said 
Ernest.  "  You  seemed  so  gay  when  I  came,  I 
did  not  wish  to  make  you  feel  sad  by  alluding 
to  the  subject.  Tell  me  all.  I  am  certain 
nothing  terrible  shadows  3'our  pure  life." 

They  returned  to  the  sofa  and  Mayoutte  be- 
gan, hesitatingly  at  first,  but  becoming  more 
confidential  as  she  proceeded  : 

"You  were  right  in  thinking  me  of  good 
birth.  My  true  name  is  Josef  a  de  Aillieres. 
My  parents  still  live  on  our  estates  in  the  i\t- 
takapas  and  my  ancestors,  as  history  has  no  doubt 
informed    you,    rendered    gallant    services    to 


THE    CREOLE     FLOWER    GIRL. 


135 


poor  France  before  the  Reign  of  Terror  ensan- 
guined her  standard.  But  father  fortunately 
escaped  the  horrorsof  the  Revolution,  as  he  emi- 
grated to  Louisiana  about  1768,  exactly  fifty  years 
after  New  Orleans  was  founded.  He  married 
a  few  years  afterward.  I  was  his  eighth  child 
and  the  only  one  who  survived  the  terrible 
epidemic  of  1785.  I  lost  five  brothers  and  two 
sisters  within  three  months.  Three  died  the 
same  day.  I  was  then  nearly  a  baby,  but  I 
vividly  recall  that  fearful  day— those  three 
coffins  ranged  side  by  side  and  the  grief  of  my 
parents.*     Oh,  Mr.  Fatah,  it  v^as  awful !" 

She  placed  her  handkerchief  to  her  face  and 
sobbed.  Ernest's  eyes  were  moist  and  he  felt 
a  choking  sensation  in  his  throat,  but  controlled 
his  emotion  and  gently  comforted  the  girl.  She 
gradually  became  calmer  and  resumed: 

"Years  went  by  without  anything  eventful 
happening.  One  day— about  five  years  ago— 
father  brought  a  stranger  to  spend  a  few  weeks 
with  us.  He  was  a  Northern  speculator  and 
was  looking  for  an  investment  in  Louisiana 
lands.  He  appeared  to  be  a  man  of  means  and 
refinement,  was  handsome  and  intelligent,  and 


*A  historical  fact.     G.   A. 


136  ROMANCES    OF    NEW    ORLEANS. 

I  fell  in  love  with  him.  He  seemed  very  fond 
of  me,  but  father  considered  me  a  mere  child 
and  laughed  heartily  when  I  told  him  the 
Northerner  had  asked  me  to  become  his  w^ife. 

'*  '  He  was  making  fun  of  you,  you  romantic 
little  goose,'  he  said.  'Run  to  your  room; 
your  dolls  are  crying  for  you." 

'*  When  I  told  this  to  my  suitor,  he  said  he 
would  speak  to  father  that  same  evening.  He 
did  so,  but  was  chilly  received. 

"  '  I  can  give  you  no  definite  answer,  sir,  ' 
I  overheard  father  saying.  '  I  have  much 
friendship  for  you,  but  I  know  nothing  of  your 
antecedents.  We  old  Frenchmen  are  ver}' 
strict  on  that  score.  You  were  introduced  to 
me  by  my  broker  and  I  asked  no  questions,  not 
having  a  marriageable  daughter — for  Josefa  is 
onl}'  fifteen.  I  do  not  refuse  the  honor  you 
wish  to  confer  upon  me,  but  furnish  me  proper 
credentials  and  I  w^ill  act  accordingly.'* 

"  I  thought  this  was  quite  unkind  of  father, 
m}^  suitor  seeming  such  a  perfect  gentleman, 
and  I  admired  the  dignified  way  in  which  he 
took  his  rebuff.     He  was  sad  and  pensive  when 

*This  may  seem  odd  to  the  present  generation,  but  it  was  the  laudable 
and  invariable  rule  of  the  old  Creoles  not  to  entertain  anybody.  Good 
credentials  were  indispensable.     G.    A. 


THE    CREOLE     FLOWER    GIRL.  IS"? 

he  met  me  in  the  drawing-room  and  I  had  not  the 
courage  to  refuse  when  he  asked  me  to  walk 
about  the  garden  with  him.  He  then  told  me  he 
was  going  in  the  morning,  never  to  return.  He 
loved  me,  but  respected  father's  antagonism  to 
Americans  and  did  not  want  to  thrust  himself  in 
a  family  where  he  was  not  liked  by  all.  He 
talked  long  and  earnestly  and  completely  turned 
my  head.  I  agreed  to  elope  with  him,  and  the 
next  morning  abandoned  those  who  had  been 
so  kir  .  to  me  to  please  a  total  stranger.  It  was 
the  usual  sequel,  Mr.  Fatah.  He  took  me  to 
Philadelphia,  where  we  lived  happily  for  a  year. 
One  morning  he  abandoned  me,  leaving  a  letter 
in  which  he  told  me  I  had  better  go  back  to  my 
parents  and  allowing  me  enough  money  to  do 
so.  I  came  as  far  as  New  Orleans,  but  had  not 
the  courage  to  seek  those  I  had  so  cruelly 
wronged.  Alone  and  friendless,  I  did  not 
know  what  to  do,  and  so  rented  this  littte  cot- 
tage and  opened  a  flower  stand.  I  first  felt 
humiliated  and  was  shy  and  nervous,  but  little 
b}^  little  I  accustomed  m3^self  to  my  surround- 
ings and  to-day  I  take  my  fate  philosophically." 
"Have  you  never  heard  from  your  hus- 
band?"  kindlv  observed  Ernest. 


138  RO>iANCES    OF    NEW    ORLEANS. 

"  I  do  not  even  know  it  he  exists.  You  now 
understand  why  we  can  not  be  happy,  Mr. 
Fatah?" 

**If  your  husband  were  dead,"  said  Ernest, 
expectantly,  *' would  you  marry  me?" 

He  read  the  answer  in  her  tear-wet  eyes  and 
resolved  to  do  all  in  his  power  to  bring  back 
their  happy  light. 


CHAPTER  III. 

Ernest  quietly  instituted  inquiries  concerning 
the  de  Aillieres  and  soon  secured  an  introduc- 
tion to  that  influential  Acadian  family.  Al- 
though he  longed  to  speak  of  the  subject  w^hich 
monopolized  his  thoughts,  he  deemed  it  best  to 
be  patient  and  observe  a  little.  He  had  come 
ostensibly  to  "write  up"  the  country  and  seek 
material  for  character  sketches.  Being  of 
French  descent,  he  was  hospitably  entertained. 
His  affability  soon  won  the  friendship  of  the 
good-hearted  people  and  he  was  told  the  odd 
folk-lore  and  legends  of  the  Attakapas  region, 
which  he  treasured  in  his  memorandum  book 
for  publication  in  the  Coiiri'ier. 


THE    CREOLE    FLOWER    GiRL.  139 

One  evening,  after  Mrs,  de  Allieres  had 
been  unusually  reminiscent,  she  sndly  ob- 
served : 

"Our  own  family  has  also  had  its  sad  romance,  . 
Mr.  Fatah.     It  is  a  subject  which  is  never  al- 
luded to  here,  but  which  still   causes  our  hearts 
to  pang." 

Ernest  could  hardly  restrain    his    excitement. 

'*  Would  you  think  me  intrusive  if  I  asked  a 
recital?"  he  said. 

*'  Not  at  all,  sir.  I  have  confidence  in  your 
discretion." 

She  then  told  him  the  story  of  Mayoutte's 
flight  with  the  Northerner,  stopping  now  and 
then  to  wipe  away  a  tear. 

*'  You  never  knew  what  became  of  the  poor 
girl?"  queried  Ernest,  a  suspicious  tremor  in 
his  voice. 

*'  We  did  all  we  could  to  find  her,  but  to  no 
avail,"  was  the  answer.  "The  wretch  who 
wronged  us  probably  killed  her." 

"  No,  madam,  your  daughter  is  not  dead," 
said  Ernest,  forgetting  his  restraint.  "You 
shall  soon  see  her." 

He    spoke    with    such    assurance,    the    old 


140  ROMANCES    OF    NEW    ORLEANS. 

ladv  seized  both  his  hands  and  imploringly 
said  : 

"Oh,  sir,  do  notkeep  me  in  suspense?  Tell  me 
everything,  whether  good  or  bad." 

Ernest  obeyed,  repeating  the  story  he  had 
heard  from  Mayoutte's  tremulous  lips.  *  *  * 
The  next  day,  INIr.  and  Mrs.  de  Aillieres,  ac- 
companied by  the  young  journahst,  left  for 
New  Orleans. 

There  are  happenings  in  our  lives  which  defy 
the  pen  of  the  chronicler.  However  ambitious 
he  may  be,  his  ideas  become  confused  and  sterile, 
taking  life  and  dying  in  the  same  breath.  The 
heart  beats  in  unison  with  the  event  which  affects 
it,  the  eyes  become  moist,  the  bosom  oppressed, 
but  the  romancer's  individuality  is  lost  and  he 
imagines  himself  a  real  actor  in  the  scene  he 
3'earns  to  depict. 

Such  were  the  feelings  which  overmastered 
the  writer  when  he  attempted  to  portray  the 
meeting  between  Mayoutte  and  her  joyful 
parents.  Aye,  the  pen  he  wields  is  not  elo- 
quent enough  to  describe  this  touching  recon- 
ciliation and  give  life  to  the  expressions  of 
unfettered  delight  which  escaped  the  lips  of 
those  three  mortals. 


THE    CREOLE     FLOWER    GIRL.  141 

Josef  a — for  she  is  no  more  to  us  Mayoutte, 
the  Creole  Flower  Girl — followed  her  parents 
to  their  Acadian  home.  At  his  fervid  solicita- 
tions, she  consented  to  correspond  with  Ernest, 
her  parents  agreeing  thereto. 

A  year  elapsed.  Every  five  or  six  weeks 
Ernest  would  receive  a  friendly  letter  from 
Josef  a.  There  were  no  mail-routes  in  those 
days,  correspondence  being  carried  on  by 
means  of  couriers,  and  four  weeks  was  consid- 
ered a  remarkable  feat  in  the  transmission  of  a 
letter  from  the  interior.  What  a  contrast  to  the 
present  lightning-hke  mail  trains?  But  this  was 
nearly  a  century  ago;  one  hundred  3^ears  hence 
an  inflated  generation  will  mock  what  we  now 
highly  prize  and  deem  indispensable. 

One  da}^  Ernest  received  a  cheerful — almost 
loving — letter  from  Mayoutte,  in  which  was  this 
simple  postscript: 

"//*  you  can  spare  the  tune,  come  and  see 
mer 

These  mysterious  words  puzzled  the  young 
man  not  a  little.  There  was  only  one  solution 
— a  personal  explanation  with  the  one  who 
framed  them.  As  luck  would  have  it,  a  planter 
from  Grand  Coteau   was  returning  home  that 


142         ROMANCES  OF  NEW  ORLEANS. 

same  evening  and  was  delighted  to  have 
'*  somebody  to  talk  to  "  during  his  tedious 
journey. 

Ernest  was  cordially  welcomed  by  the  de 
Aillieres.  Josefa  did  not  conceal  her  gladness 
at  seeing  him  again,  and  seemed  unusually  ten- 
der and  attentive.  In  the  evening,  when  the 
family  was  grouped  for  a  friendJv  chat  around 
the  crackling  log  wood  fire,  Josefa  handed  the 
young  man  a  newspaper  clipping,  bidding  him 
to  read  it. 

"  It  was  not  from  your  pen,''  she  said,  in  a 
low  tone,  "but  it  lightened  my  sorrowful 
heart." 

The  printed  slip  read  as  follows  : 

"A  letter  from  Philadelphia  to  Commagere 
&  Co.,  of  this  city,  brings  news  of  the  suicide 
of  Warren  Proctor,  the  well  known  broker. 
Financial  ruin  is  the  assigned  cause  for  the 
deed.     Deceased  was  unmarried." 

"I  read  that  in  the  Courrie?'  weeks  ago,  said 
Ernest,  calml^^      "I  see  nothing — " 

But  Josefa  had  risen  and  stood  before  him 
with  extended  arms. 

"He   was    my  husband,"   she    said,   simply. 


THE    CREOLE    FLOWER    GIRL.  143 

'*  We  can  now  be  happy,  sweet  love.     Are  you 
not  satisfied  to  have  waited?" 
A  kiss  was  his  answer. 


On   Conti  street,  not  far  from  the  Mortgage 
Office,  this  little  sign  can  be  seen  : 


MORRISON  &    FATAH, 

LAW    AND    NOTARIAL    OFFICES. 


The  junior  partner  is   a  grandson  of  Ernest 
Fatah,  the  Creole  poet  and  author. 


THE    END. 


THE 


SIRiNGlER  OF  COIGfl  SQUARE. 


lO 


THE  STRANGLER  OE  CONGO  SQUARE. 


I.— THE  MANUSCRIPT. 

One  morning  in  the  latter  part  of  April,  1887, 
I  was  busily  ticking  away  at  my  Caligrafh^ 
when  a  cheery  voice  startled  me  with  this  re- 
mark: 

^*  Hello,  old  man!" 

I  looked  up  and  perceived  Yates  Stinton,  my 
college  chum  and  inseparable  companion. 

"  Well,  what's  up?"  I  ventured,  grasping  his 
extended  hand.  "Don't  stay  an  eternity  in 
expressing  yourself,  I  entreat  you ;  am  tre- 
mendously busy  to-day." 

"  All  right,  I  waive  prefatory  remarks:  Pub- 
lished any  stories  lately?" 

*'  Not  a  line  since  November  last;  too  much 
office  work." 

"  Feel  like  launching  a  stunner?" 
•     "  If  I  can  get  good  stuff,  yes." 

"  I  can  furnish  you  all  the  material  needed, 
having  unearthed  the  strangest  manuscript  ever 


148  ROMANCES    OF    NEW    ORLEANS. 

brought  to  light.  Come  over  this  evening  and 
I'll  show  it  to  you." 

"  Anything  else?" 

I  nervously  toyed  with  the  keys  of  my  type- 
writer. 

"You  are  deliciously  polite  this  morning,"  ob- 
served Stinton,  giving  me  a  parting  shake.  "You 
will  surely  be  around,  eh?" 

"Yes.     So  long." 

"Crick!  Crick!"  w^ent  the  cylinder,  as  I  fed 
in  a  new  sheet  and  resumed  work  in  earnest. 

Seven  was  striking  w^hen  I  entered  Stinton' s 
room  that  evening,  with  this   query  on  my  lips: 

"Well,  where's  that  unparalleled  phenom- 
enon?" 

"I'll  get  it  in  a  minute,"  was  the  answer. 

He  opened  a  drawer  of  his  book-case  and 
brought  out  a  roll  of  paper,  which  he  handed 
me,  saying: 

"Just  go  over  those  pages  and  tell  me  how  you 
like  the  narrator's  style.  It  is  just  the  sort  of 
nonsense  ^-ou  always  write  about — intensely  ro- 
mantic love." 

I  was  soon  deeply  interested  in  the  document. 
For  fully  two  hours  I  read  on,  Stinton  in  the 
meantime  smoking  and  pretending  to  read,  but 


THE  STRAXGLER  OF  CONGO  SQUARE.     149 

I  could  see  he  was  watching  the  expression  of 
my  face.  I  finally  laid  down  the  manuscript  and 
said : 

"This  can  make  a  capital  romance,  Yates. 
I'll  take  care  of  it." 

"Do  you  not  think  it  too  immoral?" 

"As  it  now^  reads,  decidedly." 

"You  will  then  edit  it?,' 

"Yes,  but  I  will  have  to  wait  until  Court  ad- 
journs sine  die.  As  3^ouknow,  there's  nothing 
of  much  importance  to  do  about  the  clerk's 
office  from  June  until  November  and  I  can  then 
devote  all  my  time  to  it." 

I  again  scrutinized  the  manuscript  and  ob- 
served : 

"I  say,  old  fellow,  where  did  you  resurrect 
this?  Judging  from  its  mustiness,  I  have  no 
hesitancy  to  believe  it  was  brought  over  from 
the  Old  Country  by  DeSoto.  " 

"Found  it  in  an  old  book  store  on  Exchanp;e 
Alley  the  other  day,"  observed  Stinton,  ner- 
vously drumming  with  his  fingers  on  the  table 
and  averting  my  gaze.  "Paid  a  quarter  for  it, 
a  bargain  which  seemed  to  raise  a  suspicion  in 
the  book-seller's  mind  that  I  was  a  crank.  He 
had  thrown  it  away  as  rubbish,  and   as  his  shop 


150  ROMANCES    OF    NEW    ORLEANS. 

is  luckily  never  swept  out,  escaped  destruction. 
I  read  the  story,  thought  it  weird  and  interest- 
incr  and  reasoned  von  could  weave  somethincr 
out  of  it." 

"Do  you  know  anything  about  its   history?" 

"Not  a  syllable." 

"Well,  let  it  rest.  I'll  have  aU  summer  to 
work  this  up.  What  do  you  say  to  a  game  of 
chess?  You  annihilated  me  last  Sunday  and  I 
thirst  for  revenge." 

We  were  soon  deeply  engrossed  in  our  favor- 
ite pastime,  and  it  was  long  after  midnight  be- 
fore we  gave  the  chessmen  a  rest. 

About  a  w^eek  after  my  vi^it  to  Stinton's,  he 
left  New  Orleans  for  Paris,  Fiance,  whither  he 
went  with  the  intention  of  perfectmg  his  studies. 
It  seems  to  me  I  still  see  him  waving  a  regretful 
farewell  from  the  deck  of  the  ViUe  de  Paris  as 
she  steamed  into  midstream.  Poor  fellow,  I 
wonder  if  he  ever  reached  his  destination?  Al- 
though he  had  promised  to  keep  me  faithfully 
posted  about  his  whereabouts,  I  have  never 
heard  from  him. 

On  the  third  day  of  July,  1887 — as  is  the 
yearly  custom  in  New  Orleans — the  principal 
courts     adjourned    until    November    following. 


THE    STRAN(;LER    of    CONGO    SQUARE.  151 

There  being  very  little  stenographic  or  type- 
writing work  to  do,  I  found  myself  at  leisure  to 
investigate  the  history  of  Stinton's  manuscript 
and  discovered  that  he  had  told  me  a  stupen- 
dous fib.  The  crusty  book-seller  in  Exchange 
Alley  expressed  unfeigned  surprise  when  I 
broached  *the  subject  and  could  not  recollect 
having  ever  seen  a  person  answering  Stinton's 
description.  This,  coupled  with  the  hitter's 
unexplained  silence,  renders  the  matter  still 
more  bewildering,  and  I  have  been  wondering 
to  this  day  what  could  be  his  motive  in  concoct- 
ing such  a  fable  and  entrusting  me  with  this 
stranjje  old  record.  I  have  of  late  made  a  re- 
markable  discovery,  which,  instead  of  clearing 
away  the  mysterious  haze  which  surrounds  this 
manuscript,  renders  the  matter  still  more  ag- 
gravating— Stinton's  grandmother  was  named 
Edna  Narbour.  I  will  not  attempt  to  theorize 
upon  this  coincidence.  It  will  avail  nothing, 
as  the  last  descendant  of  the  Narbours  was 
Yates  Stinton. 


II.— CONGO  SQUARE. 

On    Rampart   street,   between  St.  Peter  and 
St.   Ann,  and   about  five    minutes'    walk   from 


152         ROMANCES  OF  NEW  ORLEANS. 

Canal  street,  is  Congo  Square.  It  is  one  of  the 
prettiest  parks  in  New  Orleans,  having  an  ele- 
gant circular  fountain  in  the  center  and  inviting 
shade  trees  scattered  here  and  there.  It  is  the 
favorite  resort  of  children  and  their  nurses,  and 
presents  an  animated,  interesting  sight  every 
evening — for  the  weather  is  never  continuously 
cold  enough  in  New  Orleans  to  prevent  out-door 
exercise. 

Years  ago  Congo  Square  w^as  nearly  a  waste, 
its  tall,  rank  grass  affording  convenient  hiding 
places  for  a  dangerous,  unruly  element  w'hich 
prowled  about  at  night  and  rendered  the  localit}^ 
unsafe  for  belated  pedestrians  on  Rampart  and 
adjoining  streets.  The  footpads  became  so 
bold  and  their  robberies  so  frequent,  that  the 
residents  of  the  Second  District  organized 
themselves  into  a  mutual  protective  association 
and  subscriptions  w^ere  raised  to  reclaim  and 
beautify  the  park.  The  weeds  were  cut,  trees 
trimmed,  shelled  walks  laid  out  and  lamp-posts 
erected  where  they  w^ould  do  the  most  good. 
The  thugs  and  sand-baggers  abandoned  the 
locality  and  reopened  business  in  the  neighor- 
hood  of  the  Old  Basin,  where  their  depreda- 
tions are  still  narrated  with  whispered  awe. 


THE  STRANGLER  OF  CONGO  SQUARE,     153 

Not  long  after  the  inauguralion  of  these  im- 
provements, excavations  were  begun  in  the  cen- 
ter of  the  square  for  the  building  of  the  present 
fountain.  One  day  a  workman  was  seen  to  sud- 
denly disappear  with  a  yell  of  terror,  the  piled- 
up  earth  falling  after  him.  As  soon  as  they  had 
recovered  from  their  surprise,  his  companions 
went  to  his  rescue,  working  cautiously  and  ap- 
prehensively, and  soon  came  upon  his  insensi- 
ble body.  He  was  brought  back  to  the  open 
air,  restoratives  w^ere  applied  and  he  soon  re- 
gained his  senses,  proving  to  have  been  only 
badly  frightened,  but  not  hurt  in  the  least.  In  the 
meantime>  his  fellow  workmen  had  been  inves- 
tigating the  cause  of  the  trouble.  They  came 
upon  a  small  tunnel,  which,  upon  being  cleared 
of  the  debris  which  choked  it,  widened  into  a 
cave  about  20  by  30  feet  in  diameter.  In  the  cen- 
ter was  found  a  heap  of  bones,  presumably  a 
human  skeleton.  Commenting  upon  the  occur- 
rence, the  old  iV(?zt^  Orleans  Chronicle  editorially 
says  : 

"i\bout  a  year  before  the  breaking  out  of  the 
Mexican  War,  this  city  w^as  terrorized  by  a  se- 
ries of  mysterious  murders  near  Congo  Square. 
The  victims  were  invariably  women,  w^ho  w^ere 
in  every  instance  strangled  to  death .     The  police 


1^4  ROMANCES    OF    NEW    ORLEANS. 

were  kept  on  the  alert  from  sunset  to  sunrise,  but 
the  fiend  was  never  captured.  Several  times  he 
was  chased  and  closely  pressed,  but  he  seemed 
to  vanish  into  the  air  as  soon  as  he  entered 
the  Square.  The  discovery  of  the  cave  ex- 
plains the  mystery." 

From  what  could  be  ascertained  from  the 
musty  records  on  file  at  the  Central  Police  Sta- 
tion, this  cave  was  used  by  the  marauders  who 
then  infested  the  localit}^  to  hide  their  plunder, 
k  had  long  ago  been  forgotten. 


III._THE  STORY. 

In  the  year  1845,  a  Spanish  company  estab- 
lished a  large  cigar  manufactory  in  New  Orleans, 
the  first  of  its  kind  to  operate  upon  an  extensive 
scale  in  Louisiana.  The  general  manager  was 
one  Miguel  Zucci,  a  young  man  not  yet  thirty, 
handsome,  conceited,  and  a  boasted  twirler  of 
feminine  hearts.  Having  flattering  credentials, 
he  was  cordiall}^  welcomed  into  the  exclusive 
social  world  of  the  Southern  metropolis. 

Alice  Narbour,  the  belle  of  the  ^uartie?' 
Creole  and  a  reputed  flirt,  resolved  to  humble 
the  arrogant  Castilian  and  make  him    swav  to 


THE    STllANGLER    OF    CONGO    SQUARE.  155 

her  every  whim  and  caprice.  Her  less  worldly 
si:^ter,  Edna,  warned  her  to  be  careful  in  her 
behavior  towards  the  young  man,  as  she  was 
afraid  the  revengeful  spirit  of  his  race  would 
prompt  him  to  do  her  harm  should  he  fall 
seriously  in  love  with  her.  But  Alice  only  smiled 
defiantly  and  continued  to  enslave  the  boastful 

foreigner. 

On  a  sultry,  drizzling  evening  in  June,  1845, 
the  sisters  were  seated  near  a  window  of  their 
fashionable  Esplanade  Avenue  residence,  gazing 
ruefully  at  the  pattering  rain. 

"I  wonder  if  our  gallant  friend  will  brave 
the  elements?"  observed  Alice,  tracing  fan- 
tastic designs  upon  the  hazy  window  pane  with 
her  rosy  finger.  '*  I  presume  he  will,  DooHe. 
I  don't   think    a  West    Indian    hurricane    could 

stop  him." 

She  laughed  and  turned  to  her  companion  for 
approval ;  but  the  latter  reprovingly  said  : 

"You  should  cure  yourself  of  that  horrible 
mania  of  flirting,  dear.     No  good  can   come  of 

it." 

"  Bah,  you  little  morahst ;  there's  no  harm  at 
all.  It  is  pure,  simple  fun.  If  men  are  foolish 
enough  to  believe  all  the  nonsense  I  w^hisper, 
they  are  w^orthy  to  be  duped." 


156         ROMANCES  OF  XEW  ORLEANS. 

"  But  you  go  too  far.  Look  at  Miguel's 
case,  for  instance.  I  am  sure  he  loves  you 
truly." 

"  Does  he?  I  am  indeed  glad  to  hear  -it.  He 
thinks  too  much  of  liimself  and  I  want  to  make 
him  feel  we  are  his  superiors." 

Edna  shrugged  her  shoulders. 

"  Do  as  you  wish,"  she  said,  "  but  I  advise 
you  to  leave  him  alone  I" 

'*I  can't,  Doolie,"  pouted  Ahce.  ''He  is 
getting  so  interesting.  I  expect  him  to  be  at  my 
knees  before  long." 

Edna  took  Alice's  hand  in  hers. 

"  Do  not  go  that  far,  dear,"  she  pleaded.  "I 
have  a  presentiment  that  evil  will  happen." 

"  Tut,  tut.  You  are  a  pessimist.  It  is  true 
he  is  deplorably  conceited,  but  Miguel  is  a 
gentleman  after  all  and  would  not  feel  offended 
if  he  found  out  I  was  flirting  him." 

Edna  sighed  and  observed: 

"  Keep  on,  then.  But  I  do  not  feel  at  all  at 
ease.  Miguel  comes  of  a  hot-headed,  imperi- 
ous race,  and  I  am  sure  he  will  allow  no  girl  to 
make  fun  of  him." 

Alice  was  thoughtful  a  few  moments. 


THE  STRAXGLER  OF  CONGO  SQUARE.     157 

'  "Do  you  think  he  would  do  anything  terrible 
if  I  told  him  I  was  flirting?"  she  asked. 

"I  do,"  was  the  decided  answer.  "You 
have  been  too  attentive  to  him." 

"  What  can  he  do?  Do  you  think  he  would 
kill  me?" 

"  I  do  not  say  he  will  go  that  far,  but  he  will 
get  even  some  way  or  other.  This  life  is  too 
short  to  wilfully  make  enemies." 

"Miguel  my  enemy?  That  would  be  grand, 
Doolie.  It  would  be  so  delightfully  romantic. 
I  think  I'll  try  the  experiment  by  giving  him  his 
co7ige  to-night." 

Edna  looked  earnestly  into  her  sister's  face. 

"  Do  not  do  that,  Alice.  You  will  regret  it. 
I  have  noted  the  expression  of  his  face  when  he 
speaks  of  you,  and  one  can  plainly  see  he  loves 
you  desperately." 

Alice  sat  down  on  Edna's  knees  and  passed 
her  arms  around  her  neck. 

"  You  dear,  silly,  scolding  pet,  how  do  you 
know  I  do  not  love  him?"  she  said,  in  alte'^red. 
tones. 

Edna  looked  into  the  roguish  eyes  and  dubi- 
ously said: 

"  If  you  do,  I  make  full  apologies.     But  it  is 


158         ROMANCES  OF  NEW  ORLEANS. 

hard  to  believe.     You  are  too  volatile  to  think 
seriously  of  anything." 

"  But  I  am  serious,  Doolie.  I  only  want  to 
see  what  he  will  say  and  then  I'll  consent  to  be 
his  wife.  It  looks  so  provincial  to  fly  into  a 
young  man's  arms  as  soon  as  he  confesses  his 
adoration." 

Edna  glanced  at  the  whimsical  girl  and  said  : 

''Act  according  to  your  fancy,  but  be  prudent. 
It  is  a  risk}^  thing  to  trifle  with  love." 

Alice's  answer  was  a  cordial  hug,  and  she 
resumed  her  vigil  by  the  window. 

"  I  wonder  what  can  be  keeping  him  away," 
she  observed.  "  He  is  intelligent,  and  ought 
to  know  that  no  other  visitors  would  dare  to 
come  in  such  weather.  It's  nearly  seven,  too. 
Ah,  here  he  is.  Let  him  think  I  am  alone, 
DooHe.  Run  up  stairs,  and  I'll  call  you  when 
the  drama  is  over." 

"Just  as  you  wish,  m}^  dear,"  said  Edna. 
"  But  mind  what  I  said." 

^   She  warningly  shook   her  finger  and  tripped 
up  the  carpeted  staircase. 

*  ****** 

Half  an  hour  later  Edna  came  to  the  head  of 
the  stairs  and  peeped  curiously  below. 


THE  STRANGLER  OF  CONGO  SQUARE.     159 

''How  Still  they  are  down  there,"  she  solil- 
oquized. *'  I  wonder  what  they  are  doing? 
The  gas  is  not  even  lit.  Miguel  couldn't  have 
gone,  for  Alice  would  have  joined  me.  Per- 
haps Alice  spoke  the  truth  and  really  loves  him, 
after  all.  He  is  a  good  match — a  little  self- 
loving,  it  is  true,  but  he  is  young  yet.  Girls  are 
so  funny,  anyhow.  I'll  just  creep  to  the  parlor, 
and  who  knows  if  I  will  not  find  them  hugging 
each  other?  Won't  they  jump,  though,  w^hen 
I  poke  my  head  in!" 

She  tip-toed  softly  down  and  soon  reached 
the  parlor.  All  was  silent.  '  She  stretched  her 
head  through  the  open  door,  but  could  not  see 
nor  hear  anything.  Beginning  to  feel  fright- 
ened, she  said: 

*' Alice — Mr.  Miguel — where  are  you?  Joking 
aside,  I  am  afraid." 

No  reply. 

'*  Oh  dear,  what  can  be  the  matter?  Alice, 
speak  out.  You  know  how  nervous  I  am.  Oh, 
you  rascals,  I'm  sure  I'll  find  you  on  your 
favorite  sofa !" 

.She    felt  her  way  to  the  sofa.     It  was  un- 
occupied. 


160  ROMANCES    OF    XF\V    ORLEANS. 

*'  If  I  only  had  a  light,"  thought  the  now 
terrified  girl. 

She  felt  about  for  the  mantelpiece  and  found 
the  match-safe.  She  eagerl}-  took  out  a  match 
and  scratched  it  against  the  wall.  The  phos- 
phorus sputtered,  flickered  and  went  out.  Not 
discouraged,  the  trembling  girl  lit  another 
match  and,  as  it  finally  brightly  burned,  looked 
searchingh'  about.  As  she  did  so,  her  eyes 
rested  upon  the  insensible  form  of  her  sister. 
.Her  senses  reeled,  she  gave  a  piercing  scream 
and  sank  into  unconsciousness. 


IV._MIGUEL   ZUCCrS   CONFESSION. 

The  subjoined  confession,  addressed  to 
"  Senorita  Edna  Narbour,"  and  written  in 
Spanish,  was  found  by  the  editor  of  this  nar- 
rative in  a  draw^er  of  Stinton's  cabinet.  A 
faithful  translation  is  given  : 

New  Orleans,  July  —  ,   1845. 

Miss — You  have  alwavs  been  so  kind  to  me, 
I  think  it  proper  to  bare  my  heart  to  vou.  Pause 
and  think  before  censuring  me.    I  loved  with  an 


THE  STRANGLER  OF  CONGO  SQUARE.     161 

intensity  which  bordered  on  insanity.     I  was  de- 
ceived    *     *     *     The  rest  all  the  world  knows. 

The  papers  have  been  very  clamorous  about 
my  actions  lately.  The  strangling  of  that  beau- 
tiful girl  last  Tuesday  seems  to  have  aroused 
them  into  a  frenzy  and  the  police  have  increased 
their  vigilance.  I  fear  to  creep  out  of  my  den, 
for  detection  means  the  gallows.  I  prefer  dying 
by  my  own  hands. 

I  hope  you  will  pardon  the  breach  of  etiquette 
I  commit  in  using  a  pencil  to  write  this.  To- 
night I  w^ill  steal  out  to  mail  you  this  communi- 
cation, but  I  dare  not  stir  by  daylight  to  get 
writing  materials.  I  am  too  weak  with  hunger 
and  fever  and  will  excite  suspicion. 

But  I  must  hurry.  My  fingers  feel  stiff  and 
cramped,  my  eyes  burning  and  misty. 

******* 

Two  weeks  ago,  while  the  skies  were  weeping 
and  the  elements  turbulent,  I  sought  the  only 
woman  on  earth  I  devotedly  loved.  She  met 
me  at  the  door,  a  smile  on  her  lips,  and  said: 

"  I  was  standing  at  the  window  and  saw  you 
coming,  Mr.- Miguel,  and  thought  I  might  ju^t 
as  well  save  3'ou  further  drenching." 

''  You  are  very   kind,"    I   replied,    my   heart 
II 


162  ROMANXES    OF    NEW    ORLEANS. 

wildly  beating  with  happiness;  "I  thought  you 
would  give  me  a  lecture  for  calling  in  such 
weather." 

"  O  no,  far  from  it,"  was  the  cordial  answer; 
"  I  world  have  felt  so  lonesome  all  alone  in  this 
dismal  house.  Doolie  took  dinner  out  and  has 
not  yet  returned,  you  know." 

We  then  entered  the  parlor.  We  conversed 
upon  current  topics,  but  our  remarks  gradually 
became  personal.  Alice's  head  being  invitingly 
near,  I  captured  a  peeping  curl  and  said  : 

"I  wish  I  was  the  owner  of  this  treasure." 

Alice  made  no  reply,  but  cast  down  her  eyes. 
Encouraged,  I  resumed  : 

"  I  wish  I  could  also  possess  something  dear- 
er, purer,  more  sublime — " 

Alice's  wondering  look  stopped  me. 

*'  What  are  3^ou  talking  about,  Mr.  Zucci?" 
she  said,  with  a  rudeness  which  astounded  me. 
"  I  hate  rhetorical  phrases.  They  remind  me 
of  oriental  salutations." 

"  I  w^ill  be  plainer,"  I  said,  taking  her  hand 
in  mine.      "  I  love  you." 

"  I  know  you  do,"  answered  the  girl,  with- 
drawing her  hand. 

"  Then  why  do  you  elude  me?" 


THE  STRANGLER  OF  CONGO  SQUARE.     163 

"  Because  I  do  not  care  for  you,"  was  the 
cold  response. 

I  smiled  incredulously. 

"  You  are  jesting,  Alice,"  I  said. 

"  No,  sir,  1  am  not.  I  was  having  fun  with 
you,  that  is  all.  I  was  told  you  hated  women 
and  wanted  to  see  if  the  rumor  was  unfounded. 
I  see  you  were  courteous  enough  to  make  an 
exception  in  my  case.  I  presume  you  will  now 
say  I  am  a  flirt?" 

''  Far  from  it,"  I  answered,  a  tremor  in  my 
tones.  "  If  I  fostered  such  a  thought,  I  would 
cease  to  love  and  respect  you.  You  are  too 
good,  too  pure,  to  wound  a  trusting  heart.  I 
understand  that  a  man  can  be  h3^pocritical;  but 
a  woman — never.      You  love  me,  do  you  not?" 

I  passed  my  arm  around  her  waist  and  drew 
her  to  me. 

"I — I  don't,  Mr.  Miguel,"  stammered  the 
girl,  frightened  by  my  impetuous  words.  *'Leave 
me  go,  sir.  It  is  getting  dark  and  I  must  light 
the  gas." 

"  Light  the  gas?  Of  course  not.  This  would 
spoil  the  romance  of  love  making." 

I  tried  to  embrace  her,  but  she  struggled  and 
ran  away  from  me.     Again    I    caught   her    and 


164  ROMANCES    OF    NEW    ORLEANS. 

was  about  to  kiss  her  taunting  lips,  when  she 
angrily  exclaimed: 

"  If  you  are  a  man  of  honor,  stop  instantly  I" 

I  released  my  grasp  and  gazed  with  frowning 
features  into  the  orirl's  face. 

"  Do  you  really  mean  this?"  I  said  brokenly. 
*'  Is  it  possible  that  you  have  been  toying  with 
me?" 

Alice  seemed  stung  by  my  peremptory  tones 
and  defiantly  answered  : 

"Assuredly,  sir.  You  are  indeed  presump- 
tuous to  think  otherwise." 

Without  a  word  and  before  she  could  make  a 
movement,  I  seized  her  by  the  throat.  She 
tried  to  scream,  but  it  was  too  late.  Her  eyes 
grew  wdld  and  strange,  my  clutch  tightened,  and 
my  darling's  fair  form  fell  senseless  to  the  floor. 
It  was  only  then  that  I  saw  the  enormity  of  my 
crime.  But  I  did  not  regret  it.  I  had  loved, 
she  had  nurtured  my  passion,  deceived  me, — 
I  could  not  help  it. 

Pardon  me,  dear  miss,  if  I  repeat  that  I  do 
not  regret  what  I  have  done.  Even  now,  as  I 
stand  on  the  brink  of  eternity  and  think  of  the 
tortures  an  immortal  life  may  mete  to  my  erring 
soul,  I    feel  happy   in  the  thought  that  I  have 


THE  STRANGLER  OF  CONGO  SQUARE.     IGo 

slain  this  false  girl.  God  or  the  devil,  whatever 
be  the  ruling  power  where  our  souls  will  meet, 
grant  that  I  may  have  full  control  of  her  spirit, 
that  I  may  inflict  upon  it  unceasing  torments. 

Miguel  Zucci. 

THE    END. 


lYALA,  THE  DANCER. 


lYALA,  THE  DANCER 


I. 

'*Tonk,  tonk,  tonk,  tonk!" 

The  old  clock  in  the  banking  house  of  Gi- 
zaille  &  Co.  discordantly  clanked  the  closing 
hour;  but  the  sound  seemed  a  melody  to  the 
tired  clerks. 

"Four  o'clock,  Lightning,"  observed  Oswald 
Lepense,  playfully  tapping  Edgar  Socsy,  the 
the  general  book-keeper,  on  the  shoulder. 

Edgar  smiled  good-humoredly,  but  there  was 
a  tinge  of  annoyance  in  his  tones  as  he  remark- 
ed: 

"I  can't  explain  it,  but  I'm  all  tangled  up. 
And  I  wanted  to  get  off  early,  too." 

"Let  me  give  you  a  lift,"  said  Oswald. 
"I'm  through  for  the  day." 

Edgar  accepted.  The  young  men  worked 
assiduously  and  had  everything  in  order  when 
the  half  hour  sounded. 

The  pair  walked   home    together.     The    dis- 


i70  ROMANCES    OF    NEW    ORI.EAXS. 

tance  being  short  and  the  air   brisk,  they  cared 
not  to  ride. 

"Are  you  going  to  the  opera  to-night?"  ven- 
tured Oswald." 

• 

**No,"  replied  Edgar.  "I  promised  Paulette 
to  bring  her  to  see  The  Private  Secretary  at 
the  Grand." 

'* You'll  miss  a  fine  treat." 

"Anything  extra?" 

"The  star  is  too  hoarse  to  sing  and  little  lyala 
will  take  the  role  of  Carmen —  Wtll,  what's 
the  matter?" 

For  Edgar  had  nearly  stopped  in  his  walk  and 
seemed  confused  about  somethinor. 

o 

"Oh,  nothing,"  was  the  calm  reply;  "your 
cigar  scorched  my  hand  and  it  made  me  feel  a 
little  creep}^" 

"I'll  prevent  further  cremation  by  smoking 
it,"  said  Oswald. 

He  placed  the  weed  to  his  lips.  It  was  un- 
lighted ! 

The  young  man  looked  searchingly  at  his 
companion. 

"You  must  have  been  dreaming,"  he  remark- 
ed. "This  cigar  has  been  fireless  for  at  least 
ten  minutes.     There   is   even  no  smoke  in  it." 


lYALA,    THE    DANCER.  '  171 

*'I  guess  my  hand  put  out  the  last  spark," 
said  Edgar,  uneasily. 

**Possibly,"  replied  Oswald,  incredulousl3^ 
**If  I  had  such  sensitive  hands,  I'll  keep  them 
in  my  pocket.  Well,  here's  my  shanty.  Sorry 
you  can't  be  around  to-night." 

"I  might  drop  in  during  the  last  act." 

Oswald  dubiously  shook  his  head. 

*'  Tut,  tut,"  he  said;  "by  the  time  you  escort 
your  betrothed  home  and  bid  her  good  night, 
everything  will  be  dark  around  the  old  French." 

"Anyhow,  I'll  try,"  responded  Edgar. 

A  smile  was  on  his  lips,  but  it  was  a  veil  for 
his  tumultuous  heart. 


II. 

Oswald  Lepense  and  Edgar  Socsy  were  inti- 
mate friends.  They  had  studied  side  by  side 
at  Spring  Hill  College — that  historic  Jesuit  insti- 
tution which  has  given  so  many  brilliant  lights 
to  the  world — and  had  both  graduated  with  high 
honors.  When  they  returned  to  their  native 
city  they  had  found  employment  in  the  same 
bank  and  w^ere  inseparable  co-workers. 


172  ROMANCES    OF    NEW    ORLEANS. 

The  season  of  French  opera  had  just  begun. 
Manager  Lemaire  had  brought  from  Europe  a 
delightful  troupe,  attached  to  which  was  a  splen- 
did co7'-ps  de  ballet.  Mile.  lyala,  \h.Q  front  ere 
danseuse^  had  from  her  initial  appearance  capti- 
vated the  undefended  hearts  of  the  3'ouths  and 
baldheads.  Among  her  clandestine  admirers 
was  Edgar  Socsy,  who  took  care  that  his  amours 
were  carefully  concealed  from  his  fiancee.  He 
loved  Paulette  sincerely  and  was  certain  he 
would  make  a  kind  and  model  husband,  but  he 
saw  no  harm  in  having  fun  with  the  vivacious 
little  dancer.  She  would  be  in  romantic  Spain, 
flirting  new  admirers,  long  before  his  wedding 
day  dawned. 

Edgar  found  Paulette  seated  pensively  near 
the  hre  w^hen  he  entered.  Her  face  beamed 
w^hen  she  saw  him. 

"  How  late  you  are!"  she  said,  helping  him 
to  divest  himself  of  his  heavy  coat. 

"A  little  more  I  would  have  stayed  until  6 
or  7." 

"Another  clerk  sick?  Something  is  always 
wrong  with  your  old  bank." 

*'  No,  it  was  my  fault.  I  got  my  additions 
all  mixed  up.  Fortunately,  Oswald  came  to 
my  assistance." 


lYAI.A,    THE    DANCER.  173 

''How  foolish  of  you!  They  say  you  are 
always  so  correct  and  punctual,  too.  What 
was  the  matter  to-day?" 

*'I  suppose  I  think  too  much  of  3^ou,"  was 
the  whispered  answer,  followed  by  a  kiss. 

She  laughingly  threatened  him  with  her 
linger  and  they  sat  down  for  a  little  chat  before 
dinner. 

''  By  the  by,"  observed  Paulette,  "  did  you 
buy  tickets  for  the  Grand  already?" 

"Yes;   here  they  are." 

The  blue  eyes  had  a  disappointed  look. 

'*  I'm  sorry  you  did.  I  saw  by  the  papers 
that  the  French  troupe  would  play  Carmen  to- 
night, and  I  am  just  dying  to  see  it." 

"  But  Mile.  Minetta  is  ill  and  will  be  replaced 
by  ihii  p-emiere  danseicse.'' 

"  Can  she  act  also  ?  I  thought  she  could  only 
dance." 

"Oswald  told  me  she  would  play  to-night." 

Paulette  was  thoughtful  a  moment. 

"I  wish  I  could  go,"  she  said,  longingly. 

"It  is  not  too  late,"  remarked  Edgar.  "I 
can  take  a  run  to  the  box  office  immediately  af- 
ter dinner  and  get  two  parquets.  If  these  are 
not  obtainable,  we  can  fall  back  on  the/ra//^ 
e7'es  or  secondes.'^ 


174  ROMAXCES    OF    NEW    ORLEANS. 

"And  vvliat  will  you  do  with  the  tickets  for  the 
Grand." 

"Frame  them." 

The  girl  looked  reprovingly  at  him. 

"No,  this  would  be  foolish.  We  need  all  the 
spare  cash  we  have  to  start  house-keeping  and 
it  would  not  do  to  squander  tw^o  dollars  so  reck- 
lessly.    I'll  see  Carmen  another  time." 

"Just  as  you  wish,  my  Queenie,"  said  Edgar. 
"So  long  as  you  are  satisfied.  I  have  nothing  to 
say.     Come,  here's  the  dinner-bell." 

She  took  his  proffered  arm  and  the}'  sought 
the  dinincr-room. 


III. 

The  Private  Secretary  had  been  given  to  a 
crowded  house. 

"  Do  you  regret  your  outburst  of  economy?" 
asked  Edgar  Socsy  to  his  affianced,  as  they  pro- 
ceeded homeward. 

"No,  indeed,"  w^as  the  response.  "  I  am 
delighted  wdth  the  play." 

An  assertion  which  she  proved  by  making  it 
her  entire  theme  until  they  reached  home.  The 
lovers  then  separated,  Paulette  seeking  her  rooni 


IVALA,    THE    DANCER.  175 

and  Edgar  going  as  far  as  his  own,  but  silently 
stealing  out  a  few  moments  afterward.  He  had 
to  keep  his  word  with  Oswald. 

Mile.  lyalahad  scored  an  unp.iralleled  success. 
Her  acting  was  voted  superb  and  tiie  young 
bloods  went  wild  over  her. 

"  It  is  evident  that  her  talents  do  not  clinor  to 
her  feet,"  whispered  Oswald  to  a  companion. 

Edi^ar  found  onlv  standing  room,  but  man- 
aged  to  crowd  to  the  fro-nt  and  was  soon  satis- 
fied his  ideal  had  noticed  him.  Yes,  she  even 
seemed  to  glance  straight  at  him  when  she 
trilled  her  most  passionate  love  songs,  and  he 
felt  more  bewitched  than  ever. 

A  private  room  in  the  Cafe  des  Artistes  held 
a  gay  couple  that  night.  For  the  first  time, 
lyala  had  consented  to  honor  Edgar  with  her 
sole  companionship,  and  ere  the  supper  was 
over,  had  promised  to  reject  other  suitors  and 
love  only  him. 

For  a  few  weeks  the  lovers  were  happy.  But 
slighted  rivals  became  jealous  of  Edgar's  mo- 
nopoly, and  one  morning  an  anonymous  letter 
disclosed  the  state  of  affairs  to  Paulette.  She 
flushed  indignantly  at  such  an  insinuation  and 
resolved  at  once  to  seek  her  betrothed  and  hear 


176  ROMANCES    OF    NEW    ORLEANS. 

the  truth  from  his  own  Hps.  It  was  not  yet  ten, 
and  she  could  never  wait  until  evening  with 
such  a  burden  on  her  mind. 

"A  lady  wishes  to  speak  to  Mr.  Socsy,"  said 
the  janitor. 

Edgar  stepped  out  and  was  not  a  little 
surprised  to  see  his  fiancee.  With  much  self- 
control  she  requested  a  few  moments'  secret 
conversation.  Edgar  bade  her  enter  the  pri- 
vate office  and  she  showed  him  the  traitorous 
letter.  The  young  man's  face  blanched  as  he 
read  the  missive. 

"  Is  this  true?"   asked    Paulette,  falteringly. 

He  made  no  reply,  but  gazed  stupidly  at  her. 

"Answerl"  she  angrily  said,  grasping  his 
arm. 

"For  heaven's  sake,  do  not  make  a  scene 
here,  Paulette,''  pleaded  Edgar,  looking  ap- 
prehensivel}'  at  the  door. 

"Pride  will  not  permit  me  to  do  so,"  was  the 
calm  reply.  "  You  then  admit  you  have  been 
fooling  me?  " 

"I — I  did  not  do  so  to — " 

"Answer  yes  or  no." 

"Yes." 

"And  you  will  see  her  again  to-night?" 


lYALA,    THE    DANCER.  177 

"She  expects  me." 

Paulette  looked  her  lover  full  in  the  face. 

"If  you  do,"  she  said,  determinedly,  *'all  is 
over  between  us.  I  forgive  you  so  far  because 
I  love  you,  but  if  you  even  speak  to  that  serpent 
again,  you  may  obliterate  me  from  your  memory. 
That  is  all.  Edgar.  Do  not  let  your  face  betray 
us . ' ' 

They  smilingly  left  the  room,  the  envious 
clerks  craning  their  necks  to  catch  a  glimpse  of 
the  lovely  girl. 

"Socsy  is  a  lucky  dog,"  said  Oswald,  in  an 
audible  whisper. 

Edgar  smiled  feebly  in  acknowledgment  and 
resumed  his  duties.  But  his  co-workers  re- 
marked he  was  inexplicabh'  ill  at  ease  as  the 
hours  sped  by. 

IV. 

"Tonk,  tonk,  tonk,  tonk!" 

Edgar  roused  himself  from  his  reveries  and 
gazed  vacantly  at  his  open  book.  His  work 
was  hardly  half  finished. 

Oswald,  whose  chief  aim  in  life  was  not  to 
tarry  at  the  bank  as  soon    as  the  last  stroke  of 


178         ROMANCES  OF  NEW  ORLEANS. 

four  had  sounded,  reached  for  his  hat,  prepara- 
tory to  going  home.     Edgar  beckoned  to  him. 

''  Well,  what's  the  racket?"  was  the  cheery 
remark. 

Edgar  pointed  to  the  blank  pages. 

"What!"  exclaimed  his  surprised  friend. 
"You  may  just  as  well  send  home  for  your 
pillow,  Slowcoach.  I've  been  watching  you, 
and  I  am  decidedly  glad  she  does  not  come  here 
every  day.     Why,  how  pale  you  are!" 

"'I  do  not  feel  well,  Os.,  and  want  you  to 
balance  for  me.  I  had  better  go  home  and 
rest.'" 

For  answer,  Oswald  placed  his  hat  on  its 
accustomed  peg. 

"  Clear  out,  then,"  he  said  pleasanth-.  "Not 
having  any  blue  eyes  and  g(jlden  hair  to  render 
me  idiotic,  I'll  post  that  book  in  a  jiffy." 

Edgar  thankfully  pressed  his  hand  and  de- 
parted. He  did  not  go  home,  but  sought  lyaia 
and  explained  his  predicament  to  her. 

"We  must  part,  Yola,"  he  said,  regretful^. 
"  I  did  not  want  to  cowardly  abandon  you.  I 
can  not  break  the  poor  orphan's  heart.  Not 
only  would  I  feel  miserable,  but  the  whole 
world  will  blame  me/' 


lYALA,  THE    DANCER..  179 

lyala's  eyes  were  aflame  with  anger. 

'*  So  you  really  love  her?"  she  said. 

Edgar  looked  up  in  genuine  surprise. 

''  Of  course,  Yola." 

*'  Why  have  you  been  telling  me  such  lies,  if 
3^ou  love  another?  You  swore  you  were  faith- 
ful to  me." 

*' But  a  fiancee  is  a  different  thing,  Yola," 
observed  Edgar,  frightened  by  her  fervid  pas- 
sion.    •'  She  will  be  my  wife." 

'•  x\nd  I  am  only  your  toy?" 

Her  red  lips  curled  contemptuously. 

''  Don't  be    absurd,  Yola,"  observed  Edgar. 

*'You  surely  did  not  expect  that  I  would 
marry  you." 

*'  I  do  not  care  for  a  priest's  blessing  nor  the 
stupidities  of  law.  I  love  you  and  I  intend  to 
keep  you." 

•^' You  must  be  reasonable,  Yola.  Think  of 
the  scandal  which  will  burst  out  if  you  act  un- 
wisely. Old  Gizaille  is  the  cream  of  morality 
and  will  surely  discharge  me." 

There  was  a  baleful  look  on  lyala'a  eyes  and 
she  was  pensive  a  few  moments.  She  presently 
observed: 

''Do  you  remember  the  first  night  I  played 
Carmen?" 


180  ROMANCES    OF    NEW    ORLEANS. 

Edgar  nodded. 

*'  Do  you  recall  what  prompted  Don  Jose  to 
kill  his  sweetheart?'" 

**Yes." 

The  dark  eyes  sparkled  dangerously. 

"I  always  did  approve  him,"  was  the  calm 
obsjsrvation.  k 

Edgar  laughed  mockingly. 

•'The  senoritas  of  Seville  are  ferocious,  my 
dear,"  he  said.      '-Adieu,  tigress."' 

He  bowed  ceremoniously  and  departed.  He 
met  Oswald  while  walking  down  Bourbon 
street  and  told  him  everything  in  confidence. 

"You  had  better  be  on  3'our  guard,"  was  the 
parting  caution.  "I  ahvays  heard  that  those 
dark-eyed  girls  were  holy  terrors." 

Edgar  shrugged  his  shoulders  and  proceeded 
homeward.  Paulette  welcomed  him  with  cus- 
tomary tenderness.  When  they  were  alone, 
she  sat  nearer  to  him  and  said: 

'•Have  you  chosen?" 

Edgar  took  the  cold  little  hand  in  his. 

"You  are  still  my  queen,"  he  fondly  said. 
* 'Forgive  me." 

A  tear  gemmed  her  lashes. 

"You  nearly  broke  my  heart,"  was  the   gen- 


lYALA,    THE    DANCER.  181 

tie  response;  "I  see  you  love  me  dearly,  how- 
ever, and  make  no  reproaches.'" 

They  remained  pensive  for  some  time.  Paul- 
ette  finally  observed  : 

**I  hear  that  the  second  representation  of 
6'«r;;/^«  takes  place  to-night.  Will  you  escort 
me?'" 

Edgar's  heart  throbbed  irregularly. 

*4  would  be  very  happy  to  do  so,''  he  said, 
with  forced  cheerfulness,  "but  it  is  impossible 
to  get  seats.  The  box  office  was  jammed  when 
I  passed   Verlouin's  music  store  this  evening." 

Paulette  smilingly  thrust  her  hand  within  her 
bosom  and  held  forth  a  small  envelope. 

"I  anticipated  the  rush  and  bought  those 
since  yesterda}^  Am  I  not  a  fine  business 
woman?" 

'^Indeed  you  are,'"  said  Edgar,  with  feigned 
admiration. 

Aye,  the  Fates  were  cruelly  probing  his 
wounded  heart. 


V. 

Never  before   had  the  role   of  Carmen  been 
played    with    such    fervency.     The   bravi  were 


182         ROMANCES  OF  NEW  ORLEANS. 

continuous  and  deafening.  lyala's  sinuous 
form  swayed  beautifully,  her  voice  was  loud 
and    clear,    her    aplomb    inimitable. 

Pale  and  resHess,  Edgar  watched  her  e very- 
movement.  She  had  noticed  him  from  the 
first  and  had  acted  solely  to  enchain  and  be- 
wilder him.  He  felt  her  glances  penetrate  to 
the  inmost  recesses  of  his  soul.  Would  she  be 
mad  enough  to  carry  out  her  threat?  No,  such 
things  only  happened  in  novels. 

The  curtain  fell  on  the  last  scene  amid 
tumultuous  applause.  The  vast  audience  gaily 
filed  out,  praising  the  fair  young  actress.  Like 
one  in  a  dream,  Edgar  followed  the  crowd, 
making  monosyllabic  replies  to  Paulette's  chat- 
ter. When  they  reached  the  foyer,  lie  stopped 
to  help  the  girl  arrange  her  wraps.  Some  one 
touched  him  lightly  on  the  shoulder.  He  turned 
around  and  perceived  lyala,  her  eyes  flaming, 
her  hand  concealed  within  the  folds  of  her  cor- 
sage. 

*'  The  senoritas  of  Seville  honor  their  vows,'* 
she  said,  swiftly  raising  her  arm.  There  was  a 
gleam,  a  startled  cry  from  Paulette,  and  those 
who  looked  back  in  affright  saw  Edgar  Socsy 
totter  and  fall. 


lYALA,    THE    DANCER.  183 

**  Clang!  clang  I  clang!" 

The  ambulance  rushes  through  the  deserted 
streets.  r\s  it  dashes  around  corners  and 
rumbles  through  the  narrow  thoroughfares, 
loudly  sounding  its  warning,  revelers  returning 
from  the  French  Opera  House  pause  a  moment 
in  their  laudations  of  lyala  to  conjecture  what 
unfortunate  is  in  need  of  help ;  but  before  they 
have  collected  their  bewildered  thoughts,  the 
wagon  of  mercy  has  disappeared  in  the  dark- 
ness. 

'*  Clang!   clang!   clang,  clang!'' 

Cars  stop,  carriages  give  precedence,  people 
hurry  out  of  the  way. 

^'C-1-a-n-g!" 

The  crowd  presses  eagerly  forward  as  the 
wagon  stops.  The  students  alight,  ryn  up  the 
ancient  stairway — 

But  it  is  too  late. 


THE    END. 


THE  DEATH-ANGEL 


A  LEGEND  OF  THE  MIDDLE  AGES. 


THE  DEATH-ANGEL. 

A  Legexd  of  the  Middle  Ages. 


The  historical  events  which  furnish  the  basis 
for  this  narrative  happened  centuries  ago,  when 
civilized  Europe  trembled  with  apprehension  at 
the  frequent  impetuous  inroads  of  oriental  and 
occidental  fanatics,  whose  inherent  belief  in 
predestination  rendered  them  fearless  of   peril. 

It  was  at  that  epoch  that  the  Christian  kings, 
becoming  alarmed  at  the  audacious  invasion  of 
the  infidels,  sanctioned  the  organization  of  the 
various  military  and  religious  orders  which 
flourished  in  the  Old  World  for  nearly  two 
hundred  years.  These  societies  worked  con- 
temporaneously with  the  crusades  and  were 
chiefly  instrumental  in  preventing  the  standard 
of  Mahomet  from  penetrating  into  Central 
Europe. 

When  the  second  crusade  was  organized, 
among  those  who  joined  Conrad  III,  Emperor 
of    Germany,  in   his  zealous    pilgrimage  to  the 


186  ROMANCES    OF    NEW    ORLEANS. 

Holy  Land,  was  Prince  Inwelf ,  an  officer  of  the 
Imperial  Staff. 

Inwelf  followed  his  sovereign  throughout  his 
unfortunate  campaign  in  Asia  Minor.  When 
the  Christian  army  was  eventually  cut  to  pieces 
by  the  irrepressible  adherents  of  Noureddin, 
the  infidel  leader,  and  forced  to  retreat,  the 
young  prince  was  made  prisoner  and  sent  to 
Damascus.  His  captors  being  aware  of  his 
rank,  demanded  a  large  ransom.  This  not 
being  forthwith  obtainable,  the  captive  was  sent 
under  a  strong  escort  to  an  inland  town, 
Damascus  being  adjudged  too  insecure. 

When  about  two  days'  journey  from  their 
destination,  the  escort  was  attacked  b\^  a  no- 
madic band  of  desert  pilferers  and  over- 
powered. Inwelf  valiantly  defended  himself, 
but  the  odds  against  him  were  too  powerful. 
He  soon  succumbed,  pierced  through  the  breast 
by  a  scimitar  thrust. 

After  assuring  themselves  that  those  com- 
posing the  escort  were  either  all  dead  or  mor- 
tally wounded,  the  brigands  hurried  away, 
carrying  with  them  whatever  booty  they  could 
appropriate. 

As    the     hours    glided     by,    Inwelf    intently 


THE    DEATH-ANGEL.  189 

watched  the  waning  moon.  i\s  it  gradually 
grew  less  discernable,  a  feeling  of  uncontrolla- 
ble fear  possessed  him. 

O  Moon  I  "  he  cried,  almost  deliriously, 
you  are  the  only  Iriend  whose  face  I  will  ever 
aoain  see  on  earth.  Do  not  abandon  me  in  my 
last  moments.  Though  your  rays  are  feeble, 
they  are  a  consolation,  and  I  feel  less  lonesome 
when  they  linger  over  me.  Do  not  leave  me. 
I  am  afraid  to  be  alone." 

As  he  ceased  speaking,  it  seemed  to  Inwelf 
that  the  Queen  of  Night  shone  brighter  and 
friendlier;  but  the  illusion  was  momentary,  for 
its  beams  grew  fainter  and  fainter  as  the  mjn- 
utes  sped  by. 

*'  O  Moon  !  "  again  implored  the  youth,  "you 
who  have  so  often  borne  me  company  in  my 
rovings,  why  do  you  desert  me  to-night?  If 
you  can  not  stay,  send  one  of  your  beams  to 
keep  me  company,  that  I  may  die  in  your  em- 
brace.'" 

No  sooner  were  these  words  uttered,  than 
the  desert  was  illumined  by  a  soft,  glowing 
light,  as  it  some  intensely  iridescent  object 
were  near.  Smiling  gratefully  at  the  moon, 
Inwelf    closed    his    eves.     He    heard    a    gentle 


190  ROMANCES    OF    NEW    ORLEANS. 

noise  and  looked  vvonderingly  about.  A  fem- 
inine form  approached.  In  welt  saw  it  was  a 
being  of  exquisite  grace  and  loveliness  and  his 
whole  soul  was  thrilled  with  ardent  love.  He 
made  an  effort  to  arise,  but  sank  back  ex- 
hausted. 

'•You  have  called  for  a  moon-beam  to  bear 
you  company,"  began  the  apparition,  in  a  voice 
of  delicate  sweetness  and  fervency;  ''I  have 
heard  your  appeals  and  have  come  to  silence 
them.  Why  are  you  so  timorous  to-night,  you 
who  so  often  fought  with  undaunted  valor? 
Why  afraid  of  the  darkness,  3'ou  who  have 
many  times  gallantly  warred,  with  not  even  the 
friendly  moon-beam  to  direct  your  movements? 
Noticing  how  rapidly  your  courage  was  for- 
saking you — seeing  how  childish  you  were 
growing,  I  have  come  to  relieve  you  of  all  ter- 
restrial cares,  and  speed  your  soul  into  the 
Happy  Land," 

As  Inwelf  heard  those  words,  his  fear  and 
astonishment  were  displaced  by  a  feeling  of  un- 
detined  adoration.  Eagerly  extending  his  arms, 
he  exclaimed: 

"'  Who  are  you,  most  beauteous  Seraph,  from 
whose  lips  such  celestial  wisdom  flows?     You 


THE    DEATH-ANGEL.  191 

have  no  doubt  eluded  the  vigilance  of  the  guar- 
dians of  Paradise,  for  no  mortal  has  such  elo- 
quent thoughts.  Now  that  you  are  near,  death 
has  no  terrors  for  me.  Oh,  how  sweet,  how 
delightful  to  die,  if  one  could  spend  his  eternal 
life  beside  you  !  You  divine  well  that  death 
claims  me  and  have  no  doubt  come  to  lead  me 
into  the  Invisible  Land.  Slay  me,  sweet  one  ! 
Though  I  know  not  who  you  are,  I  gladly  sway 
to  your  will." 

"Ignorant  youth,  to  speak  thus,"  was  the 
gentle  reproof,  in  tones  of  argentine  cadence. 
*'  Have  you  not  heard  of  the  wanderings  of 
Nisrilu,  emissary  of  the  Death-Deity?  Know 
you  not  that  I  am  timed  to  visit  the  earth;  that 
my  mission  is  to  ease  anguish?  By  simply 
touching  a  mortal,  I  release  his  soul  from  its 
case  of  clay  and  his  body  becomes  indifferent 
to  the  corrosive  influence  of  mundane  elements 
— unless  a  mortal  profanes  it  by  his  touch, 
when  it  crumbles  into  dust.  I  have  sent  more 
souls  into  Paradise  than  there  are  stars  in  the 
firmament.  Your  death  will  not  be  violent,  for 
you  will  be  ushered  into  the  realms  of  immor- 
tality with  your  features  as  undisturbed  as  those 
of  a  sleeping  child," 


192        ROMANCES  OF  NEW  ORLEANS. 

Nisrilu  approached  Inwelf.  Her  hand  was 
nearly  on  his  brow,  when  he  shrank  back  and 
piteously  cried  : 

''Before  you  still  my  frame,  most  adorable 
Nisriluj  tell  me  whence  }  ou  come — speak  of 
your  past  existence.  My  wound  no  longer 
troubles  me;  your  presence  has  proved  its 
nepenthe.'' 

"So  long  as  I  am  nigh,''  replied  Nisrilu, 
staying  her  hand,  "you  shall  experience  no 
suffering.  The  indelicacy  of  your  query  places 
you  in  imminent  peril  and  my  indignation 
prompts  me  lo  leave  you  to  your  fate;  but  you 
are  so  voung,  so  forlorn,  that  I  will  satisfy  your 
pardonable  curiositv.  You  are  the  first  mortal 
who  has  pried  into  my  past  life  without  being 
punished.  *  *  *  Listen:  More  than  three 
thousand  moons  ago,  during  the  caliphate  of 
Haroun-al-Rashid,  of  the  dynasty  of  the  Abas- 
sidos.  there  dwelt  near  Mecca  a  venerable 
chieftain  named  Hiafar.  He  had  for  his  com- 
panion a  young  daughter  known  as  Nisrilu, 
reputed  to  be  a  rare  type  of  Arabian  loveliness. 
Haroun  heard  of  Nisrilu's  charms  and  com- 
manded Hiafar  to  send  her  to  his  harem.  The 
father  indignantly   refused.     Enraged   by  what 


THE    DEATH-ANGEI..  193 

he  considered  an  affront,  the  caliph  sent  a  large 
body  of  men  to  carry  off  the  child  and  con- 
fiscate the  father's  possessions.  Hiafar  re- 
sisted and  was  put  to  death.  As  for  Nisrilii, 
she  never  could  be  found.  It  is  recorded  on 
the  tablets  of  Arabian  legendary-  lore  that  the 
Houris,  taking  pity  on  the  persecuted  girl, 
transported  her  to  Paradise  and  made  her  im- 
mortal. Tradition  also  says  that  when  the 
moon  is  in  its  last  quarter,  Nisrilu  is  allowed  to 
revisit  her  native  land.  She  seeks  the  battle 
fields  of  her  race,  her  mission  being  to  assuage 
the  torments  of  the  wounded.  Although  you 
are  a  giaour,  your  features  please  me  and  I  will 
now  lead  you  into  our  glorious  land.  You  have 
caused  me  to  tarr\^  so  long,  that  you  are  the 
only  one  I  can  solace  to-night.  Look,  the 
moon's  last  beam  is  dying!  '" 

Nisrilu  placed  her  hand  on  Inwelf's  brow 
and  softly  caressed  him.  The  youth  attempted 
to  resist  the  somnolent  sensation  which  over- 
mastered him  and  made  an  effort  to  speak.  His 
lips  trembled,  parted— but  no  sound  issued. 
Wearily  closing  his   eyes,  he  felt  an  irresistible 

languor  and  sank  into  unconsciousness. 

***** 

Forty  years  elapsed  between  the  second  and 
13 


194  UOMAXCES    OF    NEW    ORLEANS. 

third  crusades.  During  that  interval,  the  in- 
fidels had  ravaged  Palestine  and  made  the  king 
of  Jerusalem  prisoner.  This  and  other  out- 
rages finally  aroused  the  avenging  spirit  of  the 
Christians  and  another  crusade  was  organized, 
led  bv  the  emperor  of  German}'  and  the  kings 
of  France  and  England. 

After  many  reverses  and  a  few  successes,  a 
truce  was  concluded  between  the  hostile  forces, 
the  Christian  army  gaining  the  advantage. 

On  their  return  from  Palestine,  while  cross- 
ing a  particularly  arid  plain,  the  remnant  of 
England's  brave  soldier}',  led  by  Richard 
Coeur-de-Lion,  perceived  an  oasis  in  the  dis- 
tance and  eagerly  hurried  toward  it.  When 
the  king  came  upon  the  stragglers,  he  saw 
them  grouped  wonderingly  about  an  object  on 
the  ground.  Answering  his  inquiring  look,  one 
of  his  suite  observed: 

'*  Here  sleeps  a  handsome  knight,  your  high- 
ness. He  looks  so  happy,  so  tranquil,  that  we 
wonder  why  the  desert  blasts  were  so  lenient 
to  him.  I  fain  will  awake  him,  for  those 
ghouhsh  infidels  will  slay  him  after  we  are 
gone." 

The  courtier   stooped   and   laid  his   hand  on 


THE   DEATH-AXGEL.  195 

the   youth's    shoulder    to    arouse  him — but    he 
merely  grasped  a  handful  of  ashes, 

***** 

Even  to  this  day,  as  the  weary  traveler  plods 
his  way  through  tlie  vast  solitudes  of  the  East 
and  the  penetrating  dust-clouds  beset  him,  the 
natives  reverently  remark  : 

"  These  are  the  ashes  ot  the  happy  dead  ; 
the  work  of  our  beautiful  Death-Angel!" 


THE    END 


SELECTIONS  FROM 


u 


SMILES  AND  TEARS," 


NOW  IN  COURSE  OF  PREPARATION, 


PARDONABLE  CURIOSITY. 


They  were  lovers,  though  the  secret 

Never  wholly  had  been  told, 
For  she  was  a  roguish  maiden 

And  reproved  his  passion  bold. 
''  Mother  will  feel  too  distressful 

If  you  carry  me  away," 
Pouted  she  —  and  no  persuasion 

Could  that  resolution  swav. 

One  day  he  sought  consolation 

In  wild  roamings  through  the  wood, 
And  soon  came  upon  a  streamlet 

Where  the  landscape  mirrored  stood, 
Long  he  gazed  into  the  waters, 

Laughing,  rippling  at  his  feet. 
Thinking  of  his  truant  sweetheart, 

Without  whom  life  was  effete. 

Soon  he  saw  the  cherished  outlines 

Of  a  face  dehghtful,  dear, 
Slowly  forming,  archly  smiling, 

In  the  tranquil  waters  clear. 


200  ROMANCES    OF    NEW    ORLEANS. 

••  'T  is  a  vision,"  fondly  mused  he, 
•'  Of  a  face  I'll  ever  seek, 
And  my  wounded  heart  seems  solaced"- 
But  he  stopped,  for  on  his  cheek 

He  felt  the  sensation  thrilling 

Of  a  breath  like  Heaven's  w^ind, 
And  a  voice  with  gladness  faltered 
As  an  arm  his  neck  entwined: 
'•  Girls  are  curious" — and  the  bright  eyes 

Sought  again  the  singing  brook — 
'•  And  I  peeped  just  to  discover 

How  vour  future  wife  will  look!" 


THE  ANGRY  PESSIMIST. 

Heed  not  what  those  red  lips  smiling 

Murmur  lowly  unto  you. 
Nor  the  look  of  love  enthralling 

Beaming  in  those  eyes  so  blue. 
Take  care   that  those  hands  caressing 

Fetter  not  your  heart  now  free; 
Push  away  those  arms  entrancing 

Held  forth  with  such  childish  glee. 


SMILES    AND    TEARS. 

Love  has  but  a  brief  existence 

In  that  bosom  young  and  fair — 
Has  not  e'en  the  frail  consistence 

Of  the  evanescent  air. 
Shun  that  dulcet  voice  melodious, 

Toy  not  with  that  straggling  curl — 
Naught  on  earth  is  so  perfidious 

As  this  ever-pleasant  girl. 

False  the  tears  which  gem  her  lashes, 

False  her  pensive,  downcast  eytis; 
And  her  simulated  blushes 

Glow  on  cheeks  where  candor  dies. 
Obey  not  those  rich  lips  sentient 

Pouting  for  a  lover's  kiss — 
Ere  the  sun  adorns  the  Orient 

They  will  prove  to  you  remiss. 


201 


MY  SWEET  LULETTE. 


Since  from  her  side  she  bid  me  go, 
My  sweet  Lulelte, 

My  cheeks  have  lost  their  blissful  glow, 
Sered  by  regret ; 


202  ROMANCES    OF    NEW    ORLEANS. 

Her  pouting  lips  my  thoughts  beguile. 

Make  me  upstart. 
And  day  and  night  her  cruel  smile 

Appalls  my  heart. 

I  know  this  face  which   makes  me  start 

1  should  accurse; 
For  memories  dear  to  my  heart 

Hate  I  should  nurse ; 
I  know  the  blush  which  tints  her  cheek 

Is  falsehood's  seal, 
But  when  dark  eyes  pardon  seek. 

My  senses  reel. 

When  evening's  glare  swift  disappears 

Mid  shades  of  night ; 
When  glorious  Luna  coyly  peers 

And  charms  the  sight; 
When   Philomel  trills  loud   and  clear 

In  yonder  glade, 
I  feel  that  nothing  is  so  dear 

As  this  false  maid. 

This  life  is  such  a  weary  span, 

Why  should  we  grieve, 

And  wait  till  cheeks  are  withered,  wan 
Ere  we  forgive? 


SMILES    AND    TEARS. 


203 


Though  I  well  know  she's  wayward,  flirt, 

My  sweet  Lulette, 
Her  witchery  my  soul's  deep  hurt 

Makes  me  forget. 


THE  GIRL-SUICIDE. 


The  tear-wet  eyes  no  pain  disclose, 

The  blood-stained  breast  is  freed  from  sighs 

The  anguished  soul  has  sought  repose 
Within  the  realms  of   paradise. 

She  loved,  she  sinned— and  mercy  craved 
From  marble  hearts  who  spurned  her  plea; 

Despairing,  lost,  adjudged  depraved, 

Grim  Charon's  arms  she  grasped  with  glee. 

The  father  kneehng  by  his  child, 

A  frenzied  feeling  in  his  breast, 
With  cruel  curses  once  reviled 

Her  trembling  form  with  woe  oppressed. 

The  throngs  that  scan  her  girlish  face 
And  deck  her  bier  with  roses  sweet, 
[n  life  had  naught  but  thorns  to  place 
Beneath  her  wearied,  erring  feet. 


204  ROMANCES    OF    NEW    ORLEANS. 

Pride  in  this  world  so  soon  is  crushed. 
Life  so  replete  with  grief  and  fears, 

Why  wait  till  hearts  their  throbs  have  hushed 
To  shed  regretful,  useless  tears? 

Thus  has  it  been  for  cycles  past, 
So  will  it  be  till  mankind  dies — 

We  seek  to  ease  the  lives  we  blast 
When  taunting  Death  all  arts  defies. 


ESTRANGED. 


Peace?     The  word  can  ne'er  be  told, 
For  the  slighted  heart  is  cold: 
Naught  but  everlasting  hate 
In  my  bosom  you  create. 

Love  ?     Your  cruel  wiles  have  slain  it 
And  your  falsity  entombed  it: 
Let  its  grave  remain  unsullied, 
Let  its  ashes  mould  unpitied. 

Go — I  see  your  purpose  fell: 
Pardon  would  you  have  me  tell? 
I'd  see  you  writhe  in  Hades'  flame 
Ere  from  vour  hand  I  mercv  claim. 


SMILES    AND    TEARS.  20o 

BABY. 

[To  Master  Adolph  DeBIavc.'] 

Hush  I     Speak  low  and  softly,  step  with  mufHed 

tread — 
Baby  is  reposing  in  its  cozy  bed. 
He    is    such    a    rover,    plays   and     screams     so 

much. 
That,  poor  thing,   he's  tired — No,   not  e'en    a 

touch  ! 
When     his    eyes    he    opens    you    may    kisses 

take : 
Do  not  now  caress  him.   lest  he  should   awake. 

You  ought  to  have  seen  him  when  he  came  to 
me 

And,  his  eyes  half-closing,  sought  m}-  arms 
with  glee. 

•'How  much  do  you  love  me,  darling  baby- 
boy?" 

Asked  I,  kissing,  eating,  those  plump  cheeks 
with  joy. 

Swift  the  little  bare  arms  wide  were  spread 
apart 

And  the  wee  Hps  babbled:  "Big  like  Papa's 
heart!'- 


206  ROMANCES    OF    XEVV    ORLEANS. 

He  can  count  to  twenty,  names  the  months  and 

years, 
Gets    his    Papa's    slippers    when    his    step    he 

hears. 
He  repeats  his  prayers  without  troublous  aid — 
But  is  oft  in  dreamland  ere  the  end  is  said. 
He  is — O,  the  rascal,  see  his  eyes  so  blue 
Gazing  at  us.  shining  like  the  sparkling  dew! 


TIN-A-FEEX. 


[The  odd  character  depicted  below  is  a  familiar  type  in  New  Orleans, 
His  outfit  consists  of  a  small  furnace,  a  few  tools  and  some  solder.  His 
business  is  to  renovate  tin  utensils,  his  outlandish  cry  being  a  corrup- 
tion of  "  Any  tin  to  fix. "J 


The  morning  light  was  dawning  fast, 
As  through  the  streets  there  slowly  passed 
A  man,  who  clutched  with  grimy  hand 
A  furnace,  on  which  there  was  penned: 
"  Tix-a-Feex!  " 

His  eyes  were  dull,  his  clothes  besplashed 
His  face  looked  like  a  berry  smashed; 
x\nd  like  a  Choctaw's  war-cry  rang 
The  accents  of  his  deaf'ning  twang: 
''  Tin-a-Feex!  " 


SMILES    AND    TEARS.  207 

Through  halt-oped  gates  his  neck  he  craned 
And  his  vocation  loud  explained, 
In  tones  which  made  the  liouse-girls  wild. 
And  tired  mankind's  rest  beguiled: 
"  Tin-a-Feex!  " 

Go  pawn  your  voice,'"   the  newsboy  said. 
And  lose  the  ticket,  shaggy  head, 
Ere  with  a  mud  ball  you  are  sprawled." 
But  with  a  scowl  the  old  man  bawled: 
''  Tix-a-^Feex!  " 

O,  fiend!"   the  nervous  man  complained, 
I  wish  in  Hades  you  were  chained!" 
A  fierce  light  glowered  in  his  e3^e — 
But  still  uprose  that  ceaseless  cry: 
•^  Tin-a-Feex!  ** 

Meander  in  this  cozy  place, 
And  with  some  rye  your  thirst  displace." 
Thus  spake  the  saloon-keeper  sly, 
As  nearer  drew  that  startling  cry: 
''  Tin-a-Feex!  " 
******* 
x\t  dead  of  night,  as  clanging  fast, 
The  patrol  wagon  rattled  past, 
From  'neath  a  crumbling  kitchen  stair 
A  voice  roared  through  the  tranquil   air: 
^'  Tin-a-Feex!  " 


208  ROMANCES    OF    NEW    ORLEANS. 

A  maudlin  man  the  guardians  bold 
Soon  in  tTieir  grasp  did  firmly  hold; 
Aloft  he  waved  a  furnace  small, 
On  which  was  writ  this  mud-stained  scrawl 
''  Tin-a-FeexI  " 

Upon  the  wagon's  hardened  floor, 
They  rushed  him  to  the  prison  door; 
Then,  as  the  turnkey  locked  him  in, 
He  yelled  forth  with  uproarious  din : 
'*Tin-a-Feex!  " 


THE  FLEETING  IDEAL. 


I. 

As  a  thoughtful  youth  was  strolling 

Up  a  scenic  Alpine  path, 
Under  dewy  bowers  lolling 

To  escape  the  sunlight's  wrath  — 
He  came  to  a  gurgling  fountain, 

From  which  flowed  a  torrent  deep. 
Leaping  swiftly  down  the  mountain 

With  a  reverberant  sweep. 


SMILES    AND    TEARS.  209 

As  he  gazed  about,  delighted, 

He  descried  a  lovely  girl 
On  the  sparkling  verdure  seated, 

Toying  with  a  straying  curl. 

She  was  graceful,  tall  and  lissom, 

With  eyes  of  the  softest  blue, 
And  her  face,  so  frank  and  handsome, 

Mirrored  what  her  pure  heart  knew. 
'Neath  her  throat  was  clasped  a  myrtle, 

Symbol  of  love  deep  and  true, 
And  a  bridal  rose  did  nestle 

In  her  hair  of  golden  hue. 
And  the  blood  her  face  was  mantling 

As  her  cherub  lips  confessed 
To  the  youth  the  thoughts  ennobling 

Nurtured  in  her  virgin  breast: 

"  I  am  Virtue. 

For  long  ages 

Have  I  waited,  prayed  for  thee. 
And  on  Time's  eternal  pages 

Have  I  traced  thy  name  with  glee. 
When  thou  wert  by  God  created. 

In  my  bosom  Love  was  born, 
And  I  knew  I  would  be  mated 

To  thee  one  resplendent  morn. 


210  ROMANCES    OF    NEW    ORLEANS. 

I  will,  sweet  one,  be  as  constant 

As  the  sun  which  gems  the  sky, 
And  I  will  my  every  moment 

Spend  in  bliss  if  thou  art  nigh. 
Come,  let  those  arms  sweetly  fold  thee, 

Let  those  lips  by  man  unpressed 
Kiss  away  the  cares  that  shroud  thee 

And  assuage  thy  soul  distressed." 

She  stretched  forth  her  white  arms  fondly, 

Calling  him  by  names  most  dear — 
But  the  stoic  youth  gazed  coldly, 

Heeding  not  her  fair  lips  near. 
Pushing  back  the  bare  arms  lovely 

Held  forth  with  such  witchery. 
Smiling  at  her  girlish  folly. 

From  her  presence  sauntered   he. 
And  poor  Virtue's  eyes  grew  misty. 

Sunbeams  shunned  the  sighing  air: 
But  the  Fates,  scorning  pity, 

Tolled  the  tocsin  of  despair. 

II. 

Soon  the  youth  espied  a  grotto 
Gaily  decked  with  flowers  rare, 

On  which  was  inscribed  this  motto: 
^''Here  dwells  Love,  the  Debonair  J' ' 


SMILES    AND    TEARS.  211 

On  a  couch  reclined   a  maiden, 

Young,  voluptuous,  sensuous,  fair, 
And  with  lips  like  roses  laden 

With  a  ruby's  lurid  glare. 
Smiling,  she  bade  him  draw  nearer, 

Smoothed  a  place  for  him  to  rest. 
Plucking  leaf  by  leaf  a  larkspur 

Which  her  restless  fingers  pressed. 

''Of  thy  life  I  was  a  portion," 

Murmured  she  in  accents  low, 
"Loving  thee  with  wild  emotion. 

In  the  shadowed  long  ago. 
While  thou  wert  my  ardent  lover 

x\nd  with  joy  m}-  being  thrilled, 
I  thought  that  my  faith  would  waver 

Only  when  m}^  heart  was  stilled. 
But  my  mood  was  gay  and  changeful, 

x\nd  another's  arms  I  sought, 
Giving  thee,  so  proud,  disdainful, 

Not  a  solitary  thought. 
Aye,  f-orgive  I      Entwine  your  darling 

As  in  days  when  bliss  supreme 
Sceptred  us  with  sway  enthralling 

And  made  life  a  radiant  dream  I" 

Her  voice  with  deep  passion  trembled 
As  those  burning  words  she  said. 


212  ROMANCES    OF    NEW    ORLEANS. 

And,  with  fervency  dissembled. 

Drew  his  lips  to  hers  so  red. 
But  the  unmoved  youth  repelled  her. 

Would  not  e'en  glance  allows 
And  with  harsh  reproaches  left  her. 

Striding  off  with  furrowed  brow. 
With  a  sob  the  fickle  maiden 

Watched  her  lover  fade  from  sicrht: 
But  ere  stars  on  high  did  glisten. 

Others  made  her  sorrow  light. 

III. 

Evening's  glare  was  slowly  mingling 

With  the  shades  of  nascent  night 
As  the  youth  came  to  a  dwelling       i 

In  an  arbor  hid  from  sight. 
Muffled  strains  of  music  thrilling 

Charmed  his  soul,  erst  passive,  dre; 
And  he  heard  a  sweet  voice  trilling 

Sonnets  fond  in  accents  clear. 
As  he  stood  and  raptly  listened 

To  that  soft,  melodious  voice. 
His  eyes  with  emotion  glistened 

And  he  felt  his  heart  rejoice. 

With  his  senses  madly  whirling 
And  a  palpitating  heart, 


SMILES    AND    TEARS.  213 

Entered  he  the  wondrous  dwelling, 

Conquered  by  the  chanter's  art. 
Seated  where  the  sunlight  waning 

Sent  a  pallid,  fading  beam, 
Was  a  girl  with  dark  eyes  shining 

Like  the  diamond's  dazzling  gleam. 
At  the  stranger  archly  smiling, 

For  a  moment  waited  she; 
Then  her  guitar  idly  fondling, 

Weirdly  sang  this  strain  with  glee : 

^'I  am  Pride. 

A  kind  thought  never 

Found  a  haven  in  my  breast, 
x\nd  I  slay  with  joy  each  lover 

Whom  my  beauty  hath  distressed. 
Tremble,  youth,  while  sweet  I  warble 

And  with  melody  enchain 
Heart  of  thine  erst  cold  as  marble, 

Vaunted  proof  'gainst  worldly  pain. 
In  ni}^  eyes  the  starlight's  lustre 

Finds  a  dangerous  retreat — 
See,  one  glance  thy  heart  doth  shatter. 

Brings  thee,  pleading,  at  my  feet. 
Nay,  I  never  will  accord  thee 

Even  momentary  joy: 
Foolish  youth,  I  look  upon  thee 

Merely  as  a  pleasing  toy  ! '' 


214  ROMANCES    OF    x\E\V    ORLEANS. 

Eyes  aflame  with  baleful  anger, 

Shining,  star-like,  through  the  gloom, 
With  a  taunting  peal  of  laughter. 

Fled  she  from  the  scented  room. 
Gazed  the  youth  with  heart  swift-beating. 

As  one  thralled  with  sorcery; 
Then,  with  eager  cry  upstarting, 

In  wild  pursuit  darted  he. 

l' ENVOY. 

Though  this  transient  world  may  mould. 

As  the  countless  ages  roll. 
What  one  seeks  from  man  to  hold 

Will  he  struggle  to  control. 


THE    END. 


^ 


This  BOOK  may  be  kept  out  TU 
WEEKS  ONLY,  and  is  subject  to  a  ft 
of  FIVE  CENTS  a  day  thereafter.  It  v 
taken  out  on  the  day  indicated  below: 


■'^■9 


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